


Moonlight Becomes You

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dance of Romance, First Dance, Human AU, Inappropriate Uses For Furniture, It Takes Two AU, Princess and the Pauper AU, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sexytimes Under Moonlight, Smut, doing the deed, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6225178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moonlight works all kinds of magic. Especially when motorcycles and Kings are involved.</p><p>Inspired by MissSunFlower94's utterly amazing fanfic “It Takes Two.” YOU WILL NEED TO READ THAT TO UNDERSTAND THIS WORK.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: "Ride the Wind"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissSunFlower94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It Takes Two](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767323) by [MissSunFlower94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94). 



> This fanfic was written for and is dedicated to the lovely MissSunFlower94 for her birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARLING! Please accept my endless gratitude for letting me play around in your AU! 
> 
> This was inspired by her absolutely wonderful Modern Day Princess and Pauper AU fanfic, "It Takes Two." YOU WILL NEED TO READ THAT TO UNDERSTAND THIS. SERIOUSLY, GUYS, TREAT YOURSELVES AND GIVE IT A READ. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

**Part One: “Ride the Wind”**

_“Dammit!”_

Bog looked up sharply as Marianne stalked into his study, her expression considerably more stormy than the overcast of clouds that always seemed to lurk along Biròg’s horizon. “What is it?” 

Marianne, scowling fiercely, flung herself into one of his wing-backed chairs, and Bog had to bite down on a smile over how the elegant dark green brocade stood in such stark contrast with her casual clothing.  _You got to work for a look, and mine’s apparently rocker-chic_ , Marianne had once explained, a wry smile twisting lips that had been a delicious plum hue, a fact that had thoroughly distracted Bog. 

He found he was once again in danger of becoming so distracted, given how the slashed neckline of her top exposed the fine line of her collarbone and how her dark jeans seemed painted on. Not to mention her boots - God, but Bog had some deeply hidden thoughts about that particular pair. If he was being honest with himself, said thoughts bordered on fantasies, what with how they laced up Marianne’s long legs like vines twining up trees. Add to that her leather jacket and those practically  _golden_  eyes –

Bog glanced down, an embarrassed flush coming to his sharp cheeks over his thoughts.  _God_ , but Marianne Dale was a girl who made his mind fall to the gutter all too easily.

That in mind, Bog made a valiant effort to concentrate on what she was saying, something about her bike. 

“ – And then they said that it would just be better for them to replace both tires! I told them I only needed the one looked at, but they said it was getting older and what with the make of the bike it would be a better investment in the long run! And I was just getting so impatient and they were  _totally_  using it against me, making me seem like some  _hysterical female_  who didn’t know her way around an engine -!” 

Marianne stopped and sighed harshly through her teeth, falling back against the chair once more. Her eyes were regretful when she lifted them to Bog. “Long story short, I think we may have to cancel that date. I just wouldn’t feel right using one of your bikes, not after how I almost got the last one wrecked –”

“Ye didn’t almost wreak it,” Bog said firmly, standing up from his desk, thankful to escape from the mountain of paperwork scattered over it. “I told you, it was fine –” 

“Just because you can afford to have it fixed as easily as other people can go out to buy a new toothbrush doesn’t make it  _fine,”_  Marianne countered. “I told you from the start, I don’t want any special favors just because I’m dating a King –” 

“And I told you,  _from the start_ , that such an idea was an insult to both of us,” Bog shot back. His expression softened as he reached her chair, lifting a hand to stroke along the fine line of her cheekbone. For a girl who seemed forged from fire and grit and sheer bloody-minded determination, she had the most delicately lovely bone structure. “You can take care of yourself, Tough Girl. And you didn’t ruin the bike. It was just a love tap.” He shrugged a shoulder, smirking a bit. “As it were.” 

Marianne’s eyes looked up into his, and then she laughed, soft and warm, tension draining from her. “God, you’re such a dork.” Her smile was affectionate as she looked up at him, her eyes bright and warm. “And you’re never gonna let that go –” 

“Not until you admit that I won that race.” 

Marianne tossed her head, the haughtiness of the gesture negated by the way her eyes sparkled with mischief. “ _Never._  Not even if you command me to, Your Majesty -” 

“Like anyone could bloody command you,” Bog said, balancing himself on the arm of the chair so he could wrap an arm around her, tugging her close. Marianne readily let herself be pulled to him, the knowledge that she would have blacked anyone else’s eyes for manhandling her so making it all the more sweeter. 

He nuzzled at her hair, breathing deep. God, when had he let himself do this? Be this close to anyone? When had he let his walls down like this, after everything that had happened with Maura…?

Bog had thought he had managed his heart as well as he managed his Kingdom, even after it being shattered so. It hadn’t been until Marianne when he realized that, yes, while he knew how to handle Biròg …he hadn’t had a clue just how miserably  _lonely_  he had been until he had met her.  _Just as bitter, just as cynical, just as desperately, achingly alone._

When he had last felt like this way didn’t matter, he had come to realize. What mattered was the fact that  _here, now_ …he had her. And she had him. 

Strangely enough, that fact alone made them the happiest they had ever been in a damn long time. 

_“You deserve this, Bog. You deserve to be happy, have this night with her.”_

Bog’s lips curled with a wry smile.  _Mother has her moments_. He wasn’t about to let this night get away. “You know…” he said slowly, measuring out his words, “…we don’t  _need_  two bikes for this outing.” 

Marianne leaned back, arching a brow at him. “Oh?”

He arched one back, smirking down at her. “That is… _one_  would do quite nicely.”

Those gorgeous amber eyes of hers widened, and then she pursed her lips. “So, if I’m getting this right,” Marianne said, an archness to her tone though her eyes were gleaming, “you’re proposing that you ride your motorcycle while  _I’m_  the passenger, arms holding you tight, basically looking like some kind of swoony heroine off of some clichéd romance novel?”

“You’d be terrible at swoony,” Bog informed her frankly, letting his smirk crawl back onto his face, and he looked less like a King of some dark and mysterious country and more like some former teen rebel, beautiful blue eyes positively glimmering with mischief. “And I’m more than fine with letting you be the one to –” 

She gave him a swat. “I made it a point of pride never to fall prey to stupid romantic clichés,” Marianne said, aiming a stern glower at him. 

Bog had five seconds of wondering if he had made a severe misjudgment when a smile, warm and unguarded, filled Marianne’s face with the happiness she wore so well. “It’s honestly pretty pathetic how easy it is for me to disregard said point of pride. Let’s do it.” 

Bog pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, partly to conceal his relief. Tonight was still theirs.

Now he could only hope that everything  _else_  would go according to plan.  

* * *

Bog came to a stop, the wheels of his bike churning up the gravel road he had deemed necessary to take to their destination. Marianne had hid her smile against the leather of his jacket, clinging to him tight as he had turned onto the road, riding through the night.  _Pretty sure someone just wanted a scenic route and my arms around him, Your Majesty…_

Though she couldn’t deny the sheer  _beauty_  of the night, nor the land. She had been a bit nervous when the road took them deep into the heart of one of the many dark forests that Biròg boasted. But it had proven  _thrilling_ , almost strangely  _intimate_  to be in the heart of Bog’s Kingdom, alone in the deep and vast shadows if not for his presence. The roar of the bike had filled the night and her ears, but the steady beat of his heart had been stronger than the purr of any engine…

Now they had arrived at what appeared to be their destination, a lake so achingly lovely it looked like something off a postcard. Bog busied himself with cutting the engine, swinging one long leg off the bike he had built with his own hands, a fact that Marianne never failed to find damn sexy. 

That in mind, Marianne let herself be weak and gave herself a few solid moments of blatantly ogling Bog while he was unaware. God, but did dark jeans, white tee shirt and dark brown leather jacket do him  _all_  kinds of favors. She would have never thought a King would own such clothing. But then again, Bog  _was_  an Elvis fan…

She rolled her eyes fondly and went back to drinking in the other sights tonight had to offer, her smile melting into a heartfelt sigh. Biròg had a well-deserved reputation for darkness, but it was a country full of surprising beauty, mysterious and compelling with its windy moors and deep forests. One simply had to know where to look. 

And now, drowned in moonlight, Marianne felt she had to look everywhere, from the lake, rippling silver-white under the pure silver glow, to the weeping willows that dipped down to it.  _It’s so perfect._

_And he wants to share it with me…_

A soft shiver went down Marianne’s spine, and she let her eyes go back to Bog. 

He was leaning against the trunk of one of the willow, also taking in the night with silent enjoyment, an undeniable look of fondness as he gazed over the land that was his birthright. Marianne felt another shiver pass over her, this one right through her heart, and she had to laugh, ducking her head.  _You’re enjoying a moonlit date with a man who may damn well be your soul mate, and he happens to be the King of this country. When did your life become a romance novel?_   

Bog looked over at her, arching a heavy brow. “Something funny, Tough Girl?”

“No. Just happy.” A smile, almost bashful, curled across his face at that, and Marianne’s own smile grew as she sauntered toward him. “So…why _this_ place, Your Majesty?”  

Bog waved a hand in front of him, the gesture encompassing all that they saw. “You said you wanted to explore more of Biròg - this lake happens to be one of its locations that even outsiders can agree is quite satisfactory.” A faint edge of irritation came in his voice. “I believe one guidebook even called it a  _‘hidden gem in the midst of perpetual doom and gloom.’_ ” He shrugged a shoulder, leather brushing against bark as his eyes went back to the moonlit lake. “For a hidden gem, it’s pretty bloody popular.” 

Marianne turned in a circle, looking at it with new eyes and keeping her voice determinedly light. “With couples, I’m guessing? Looks like a great place for a picnic.”  

His eyes snapped to her. “Yes…just that,” he admitted softly, and Marianne felt almost faint at how his gaze caught the moonlight. He then snorted, rolling his eyes. “Although that guidebook  _did_  advise that people should wait for a sunny day.” The irritation was now blatant, melding with sarcasm. “A _‘rare thing indeed in a country like Biròg.’_ ”

Marianne gave a bark of laughter, grinning at him. “You’re adorable when you’re salty, you know that?” 

Bog flushed, and her grin softened into a smile as she leaned against the tree with him, her knuckles bumping at his. Bog readily entwined his fingers with hers, his palm large and rough with calluses from signing all kinds of important documents. 

Marianne’s voice was just a bit softer then the wind making the water ripple. “So…no sunlight for us.” 

Bog shifted a bit, angling his head to nuzzle her hair. “I figured you wouldn’t mind not going to the traditional route,” he said in a rather husky voice, and Marianne felt her insides melt a bit. “And the moonlight  _is_  perfect right now.” 

Okay,  _that_  was unfair. No one’s voice should make a double feature of trembling  _and_  melting happen.

Marianne turned and looked into his eyes, amber meeting aquamarine. “It is,” she agreed softly. “Though I can think of a couple things that are pretty damn near perfect right now.” 

Bog’s brows quirked in confusion before Marianne slid her hand up his jacket, curling her fingers around the collar and pulling him close.  _C’mon, Your Majesty._

Any confusion melted away from him as their lips met, and he quickly stepped away from the tree to properly hold her, one large hand cradling her head while the other slid down the curve of her waist. Marianne moaned into his mouth as he tugged at her lip, eagerly deepening the kiss as her hands tangled in his hair. 

Through the hedonistic haze of losing themselves in each other, Marianne had a vague thought that she really  _ought_  to be concerned about making sure the moon was the only witness to their passion. Such a fear quickly melted under the molten heat pooling in her groin as Bog pulled her close, and Marianne was confronted with just how much of an effect she was having on him.  ** _Oh._**

But Marianne was a big girl –  _Tough Girl_  – and went after what she wanted. Her tongue teased at his as her hips rocked up, the action both a demand and a plea.  _More, please more –_

Bog broke away, his exhale nearly a shudder, his eyes glazed and an undeniable blush blazing on his cheeks. Marianne carded her fingers through his hair, and his head bowed at her touch, a shaky sigh dropping from his lips. When he spoke, his voice was thick.  _“’M…Ah’m sorry, Ah –”_

 _“Never_  apologize for wanting me,” Marianne said, the sternness of the command at odds with the softness of her voice. “Not when I want you just as bad.” 

Bog flushed even more at that, but his eyes got a gleam that sent a thrill curling from her spine to her toes. God, but even after all the frankly shameless make-outs they had indulged in, that he could  _still_  get shy,  _still_ think she might be put off, still get flushed like it was all new -

Marianne had to laugh, the sound breathless and her heart torn between delight and desire. God, but it  _never_  would get old, would it, what they did to each other?  _Everything is new with him._  The old Marianne Dale certainly would have never entertained the idea of a moonlit picnic. 

That in mind, she stepped back a bit so they could catch their breath, running her hands through her hair - if the wind from the ride hadn’t completely messed it up,  _that_  definitely had – and clearing her throat. “Um… _so_. Am I right in thinking you have something stashed on your bike? ‘Cause that would explain why you said we should skip dinner –”

“I might have had the cooks prepare something,” Bog admitted, making a valiant attempt to answer though his voice was still a touch ragged. 

Marianne walked backwards to his bike, tugging him after her and arching a playful brow. “Wining and dining by moonlight? How  _suave_  of you. If there’s gonna be candlelight, I  _might_  set something on fire–” 

“There’s no candles and it’s not wine,” Bog said, looking faintly nettled at being accused of something so clichéd. He continued on, looking rather sheepish. “I mean, like I said, it’s not very fancy. Or traditional. But I thought you would like this better–” 

Marianne placed her fingers on his lips, hushing him as she looked up at him curiously. “Wait, what  _did_  you bring?” 

Bog swallowed a touch nervously.  _“Ah_ …ribs. Ribs and beer.”

Marianne looked at him, wide eyed.  _Oh my God._

He scratched a hand at the nape of his neck, licking his lips. “I…because of the food we had at the –” 

“I know,” Marianne interrupted, still reeling.  _OH MY GOD._

Marianne considered herself a strong individual, but in that moment she was helpless, dazedly shaking her head. Oh God, he was  _adorable._   _Fucking hell, I’m in **so**  much trouble. _“You’re actually recreating our first –?”

“Not recreating, no,” Bog said quickly, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back to his bike. “Just…maybe a second try? Without any chance of our photographs being taken? I made sure tonight they wouldn’t.” 

Marianne laughed, still shocked. “With what, a  _secret weapon?”_

Bog paused, then let out a bark of laughter. “That’s quite appropriate, actually.” His smile was somewhere between smug and shy and sweet. “Aye…a second chance at that dinner, with help from a secret weapon.” 

“And motorcycles,” Marianne added, her face aching from her smile as she joined him by his bike. 

His eyes crinkled. “And motorcycles. And moonlight.” 

“Which happens to be perfect right now.” Reaching him, Marianne looped her arms around his neck. “You  _do_ know what I like.” 

Bog rolled his eyes and let out a huff of laughter, and Marianne grinned before pursing her lips in mock-thoughtfulness. “There’s only  _one_  thing that’s missing…”

Bog looked at her in askance, cocking a brow. “And that would be…?” 

Marianne, always a girl who favored action over words, let her kiss answer that question. 

Bog quickly responded, once more twining his arms about her as he met her passion with his, and Marianne’s chuckle was caught between their mouths.  _Motorcycles, moonlight, and make-outs, Biròg’s got ‘em all._  Hell,  _that_ should be in the stupid guidebook.  

Both sets of hands quickly got hard and hungry as the embrace heated up, Marianne’s clutching at his shirt and Bog’s curving along her hip. Marianne moaned as he shamelessly squeezed her ass, and Bog claimed it the way only a King could, his answering groan almost a growl. Marianne’s head swam with the sound of rippling water and the glow of the moon and the sheer  _deliciousness_  of it all. God, talk about  _wanting_  him - he felt  _so_ outrageously good, the rasp of his stubble and the tug of his teeth and the stroke of his tongue positively  _melting_  her –

So long, it had been  _so goddamned long_  since she had been held like this,  _touched_  like this, felt so wanted, so  _loved_ -

But then Bog was sliding his hands away from her ass, stroking hard and heated lines to her -

Marianne gasped as his fingers, long and strong and knowing what she liked all too well, toyed at the zipper of her pants before stroking at the juncture of her legs, cupping her with his large, warm palm.  _Oh my GOD._

Her gasp frayed into a shuddery moan and her head lolled back drunkenly as Bog let his hand caresses and knead her crotch, the drag of his hand an exquisite friction against her quickly dampening core. _That he could go from sweetly nervous to **this–!**_

“I’m not…gonna last…for long if y-you keep d-doing that,” Marianne managed to gasp into his ear before biting at it. Bog made a rough sound deep in his throat as she sucked on the lobe, dragging her teeth at the flesh before releasing it to kiss along the sharp line of his jaw, his stubble rasping beneath her lips. “We definitely don’t want the paparazzi to see  _this_ –” 

“Ah told ye,” Bog growled, and Marianne’s stomach flipped as his voice -  _cashmere would sound like that, fresh from the dryer and dragging over the most sensitive skin –_ curled along her ear.“Secret weapon.” 

Marianne was very proud of herself for giving a reasonably snarky snort, what with how Bog had decided to get his thumb in on the action, rubbing it  _just_  right against her sweet spot. “Y-you sound awful sure of that. And f-forgive me if I’m not –  _oooh, yes_  – a hundred percent sold on g-guaranteed anonymity after that first date – ”

Because  _yes,_  that  _had_  been a date, no matter how much she had denied it back then–

Bog chuckled, pulling away a bit to lower his head to the column of her neck, Marianne’s moan pouring out of her like honey from a comb as the warmth of his laughter, raspy and deep, brushed over her sensitive skin. “True, but back then we didn’t have help, did we?”

Marianne rolled her eyes even as she threaded fingers through his hair. “I wouldn’t exactly  _know_ , since you’re refusing to tell me what it even is –” 

“My mother.” 

Marianne ceased moving for the span of ten seconds before pulling back to look at him with wide eyes.  _“Griselda? Griselda is your secret weapon?!”_

She couldn’t keep a note of alarm out of her voice. It wasn’t that she  _disliked_ Griselda – far from it. The King’s Mother had a brash and straightforward attitude that Marianne respected. It was her fixation on all things romantic and how they related to her and Bog that got Marianne wincing.

But Bog merely smirked, none of his normal annoyance at his mother’s attempts to help his love life in his features. “Aye. She and a friend of hers have been busy tipping off the press to a grand romantic dinner that’s been planned in our honor.” He laughed, and the way it lit his face had Marianne gazing up at him in stupefied lust. “Funny thing is, she’s wanted to plan just that for the longest time. But when I told her that all you and I wanted was a private night, she was all too willing to help.” 

Marianne shook her head dazedly, both in admiration of Griselda’s cunning and to clear the haze of desire fogging her mind. But what with the sight the ruler of Biròg made just then, smile sharp, jaw shadowed with dusk and stubble, the blue of his eyes practically  _glowing_  with warmth and moonlight…

Well, that just wasn’t happening.  _In fact…_

Marianne gave a thoughtful little hum, stroking a hand up one sharp cheek. “I’m glad she did. No schmaltzy dinner could be as good as  _you_  look right now. God, you’re  _working_  that moonlight.”

Bog flushed and laughed embarrassedly, dropping his eyes down. “You’re one to talk, Tough Girl –” 

“Nu-uh, I’m nothing compared to you, Your Majesty.” Marianne let her smile curve across her lip, slow and sultry, before standing up on her toes. “The great thing about you…” she purred against his lips, repressing a grin when he shivered, “…is that you have no idea how fucking _sexy_  you are.”

Bog flushed harder and made to pull away. “Marianne, don’t feel like you need to say th–”

But Marianne clung to him like a stubborn burr. “Bog, I’m serious,” she said, dropping any teasing and looking up at him earnestly. “Roland damn well knew he was good looking, and he made sure that  _I_  knew it too, that I was  _oh-so-lucky_  to have someone like him in my life.” Marianne shook her head in disgust. The memory of Roland no longer stung, but she still hated to waste any time on that creep at all.  _Especially when there’s Kings to seduce_.

That in mind, Marianne gave Bog a look both sincere and devastatingly wicked. “And I told you, after the deception, I would  _never_  lie to you again,” she murmured. “I promised both of us to only say what I absolutely mean. So…” Marianne’s voice dropped to just above a purr, “…you  _know_  I’m being serious when I say that you are  _stupidly_ attractive and  _achingly_ sexy and that I have  _so_  many scenarios of us involving that one archive room –”

Though to be honest, the desk he had here was getting to be a serious contender -

Bog made a noise that was a cross between her name and a strangled gasp, but Marianne simply continued on, pressing every eager inch of herself against his tall, lean frame. “You’re  _so_  damn beautiful, you know…” she murmured against his throat, her lips brushing over his Adam’s apple, which bobbed as he swallowed. 

She ran her fingers through his thick hair, ashy black and soft. The moonlight caught on some of the grays, turning them silver, and Marianne melted a bit, tugging at a lock. “I love  _this_ , I love your stubble, all your sharp lines – and you’re _built_ , you know that? Your  _shoulders,_  God almighty, they’re so fucking  _broad_  –”

_And I may have imagined getting my brains screwed out under them._

Bog was hot under her touch, and Marianne knew that it was due to both arousal and embarrassment at her praise, but screw it, he needed to know what he did to her. She continued on, voice and eyes smoldering in equal parts. “You look better than James fucking Dean right now, please keep that tight white shirt and jeans and leather jacket look –” 

“I just didn’t want to catch attention, wanted to keep a low profile,” Bog muttered, ducking his head. 

“You caught  _my_  attention,” Marianne laughed, her voice a trifle ragged. Served his bashful ass right, what with the state he put her in earlier. God, but she was positively burning for him. She ducked her head down as well, golden brown looking into brilliant blue. “God, your eyes are  _unreal_. I think that was the first thing I fell for, they’re so  _beautiful_  –”

“Marianne–”

“Either that or your accent, ‘cause seriously, your voice is  _dangerous_. I need to read up on Biròg’s military, but I’m pretty sure that thing could be classified as a weapon of mass destruction, it sounds like –  _God,_  I don’t even know, like how cashmere feels against skin, or how your cologne smells –”  

_“Marianne!”_

She blinked up at him innocently. “Yes, Your Majesty?” 

“Ye–” Bog took a step away, or tried to, panting a bit. “Ye shouldn’t say tha’–” 

“Need to say  _something_  to convince you of your masculine wiles,” Marianne tutted, before curling her hand around the nape of his neck and bringing him back to her, pushing her mouth against his ear. Her drawl was soft and wicked. “How about… _my panties are soaking wet?”_  

Bog stilled.

And then he was suddenly pulling back from Marianne, cool and calm as he cocked a brow at her, and his smirk was sly. “Oh,  _are_  they?” 

In that moment, Marianne knew she had quite possibly made the best mistake of her life.  _Oh God._

Nonetheless, she tried to stay collected as possible as she met Bog’s gaze, arching a brow. “Yeah. What d’you think about  _that_ , Your Majesty?” 

But heaven help her, she shivered as Bog’s smirk slid into a smile that could only mean one thing.  _Trouble_. “Ah think…” he drawled, and Marianne’s heart thudded in her breast as one of his hands snaked down to palm her ass, “…tha’ Ah may have ta check tha’.” 

Marianne’s knees went weak as water, her breath escaping her in a giant whoosh.  _Oh **God**. _

Suddenly she was spun around, everything a dizzied blur of moonlight and want, and she was leaning against the seat of his motorcycle, chrome and metal pressing against her legs.  _OH GOD! ****_

The hand on her ass became an arm around her waist, holding her up as she swayed, her head in a whirl. Bog’s other hand slid down her front, passing between the valley of her breasts, down the flat of her stomach, dipping under her shirt to –

Marianne’s eyes fluttered closed as Bog stroked the sensitive stretch of skin there, palms warm and callused against the smooth flesh. The contrast was delicious, awakening nerves and sending shivers spiraling through her, and Marianne’s sigh was a sweet and trembling thing, full of yearning.  _“Bog…”_

But then his hand decided to go down,  _way_  down, slipping out from under her shirt to slid under the waistband of her trousers and –

Marianne’s eyes shot open as long and strong and wickedly knowing fingers curled against her core, stroked across the crotch of her undeniably damp panties. 

Her gasp was loud and ragged, echoing in the night and followed by a low and dark chuckle. “So ye  _weren’t_  just sayin’ tha’, Tough Girl…” Bog drawled, soft and wicked and amused, lips brushing the shell of her ear. 

Marianne desperately tried to think of a snappy retort but settled for gasping some more, throwing in some moans as Bog sucked on her earlobe as his fingers truly began to torture and tease her, melting her further still. He rubbed tight little circles upon the crotch of her panties, the friction of the fabric upon her bud making Marianne’s head loll and spin. 

Her heart was racing, her breath coming in raggedly hard and helpless pants and  _holy fucking hells_ , this was  _so_ exquisitely unfair, how the  _hell_  was he managing this when she was wearing her tightest pair of leather pants?

Pants she might have put on for the express purpose of catching him checking her ass out.  _God,_   _this is **so**  much better.   _

No sooner had that thought drifted through her blissed-out mind when Bog moved her panties out of the way, one rough knuckle grazing her right on her clit just as his tongue rasped over her pulse. 

Marianne’s breath  _heaved_ from her, her whole body reeling as the King of Biròg gave her neck a soft, sucking bite as his fingers flicked and rubbed and teased her bud into the highest heavens of pleasure. Marianne shook like voltage was passing through her, unable to keep her rapture in.  _“BOG…!”_

But suddenly he was pulling away, and Marianne gave a piteous whine, bereft of his touch.  _Why would he pull away, was she being too much -?_

Bog knelt before her, hands gentle but unyielding as he grasped her hips. Marianne attempted to marshal her dazed wits, scattered as they were by bliss, but then she was being bent over his bike, Bog’s strong fingers palming her hips so that they were canted up to him. 

His eyes burned up at her from beneath his brows, achingly bright and blue, and Marianne could only gulp, her heart thudding so hard she was sure there was going to be a bruise.  _“Bog, what-?”_

Both sets of his fingers dragged across her leather-clad thighs to the front of her pants, softly unbuttoning them before tugging the zipper down, the action almost languid. 

Marianne froze, her breath catching in her throat.  ** _No._** _No fucking way._

His hands still unhurried, Bog pulled both pants and panties down a bit, and now she was bared entirely, moonlight washing over her, the soft breeze tickling her heated flesh making her writhe just a bit. 

There was a slight tremor to Bog’s hands as they gently stroked through her curls, dewy with desire, before gently parting her folds, his gaze almost a caress as he blatantly drank in the sight. When his eyes flicked back up to hers, they were smoldering and serious, burning with a worshipful glint that had Marianne melting even further back across the bike. 

Then he smiled, and God help her, Marianne had never seen anyone look so  _hungry_.

Her heart stuttered at the sight.  _Here, now, is he **really**  going to –?_

And then he was bending his head, the moonlight catching once more on those few silver strands –

Marianne threw her head back with a heaving gasp as Bog licked her, the drag of his tongue the most exquisite torture as it laved over her hot flesh, her throbbing clit.  _OH YES HE IS_. 

Marianne wasn’t sure whether to grab his bike or him, flailing about a bit before settling on both, one hand clawing at chrome and leather while the other twined desperate fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Neediness made her just shy of rough, but Bog didn’t object, merely giving a hungry growl as he continued to take her, taste her in the most  _intoxicating_ way, his tongue curling at her clit, the blunt edge of his teeth scraping so sweet –

Marianne’s chest heaved, perspiration already beading along her brow as she cried out to the night, her rapture echoing across the lake.  _Please let Griselda be successful in tricking those reporters, please please please -!_

If pictures of this surfaced, Bog doing  _this_  to her –

Public opinion in Biròg had been quite positive in regards to their ruler’s new paramour, but Marianne was sure photographical evidence of her shamelessly bent over a bike while their King went down on her would produce a scandal even they couldn’t forgive.

Marianne  _would_  have made an effort to prevent such a risk,  _but sweet fucking hell, he was so damn **good**_  -   

She squirmed beneath his mouth, frantically trying to hook her leg over his shoulder to get him closer, a feat that was impossible what with how her pants were hooked around her knees and her mind was a hot mess of want. Bog, for his part, seemed to know  _exactly_  what she was after and clutched her closer, continuing to drink in her desire, feast on her flesh, and dear God,  _anyone_  could see them,  _anyone–!_

Ripples of molten ecstasy shuddered under her skin as Bog sucked on her clit, making rough little noises of rapture against her that sent more exquisite tremors quaking through her. Marianne gave a cry that was close to a sob, her entire being reeling under his tender, torturing thoroughness, the wretchedly wonderful wickedness of it all.  

 _A King is going down on me, an actual fucking King is eating me out under fucking moonlight while I’m laying over a motorcycle he fucking made, Jesus Christ, romance novels have fucking NOTHING on me_ –

It had been  _so_  long,  _too_  long since anyone had given her such bliss, had her surrendering to such rapture. God knows that Roland certainly hadn’t been the least bit eager to perform such an act. Honestly,  _that_ should have been her first freaking clue –

Marianne grit her teeth as her body bucked under a particularly delicious and deft caress of Bog’s tongue.  _DON’T RUIN THIS WITH ROLAND._

Thankfully that was easy enough, concentrating on nothing but Bog and how he was sending her senses into a swoon with that sinful mouth, those delicious lips, and that utterly  _evil_  tongue. 

Refusing to let any nerves or lingering memories rob her of this, Marianne was shameless, riding his mouth like he had driven his motorcycle tonight, racing shadows and riding the wind–

She was close,  _so very close_ , her pleasure cresting to a perfect and powerful peak and bringing her right to the edge, poised on a steep precipice of rapturous release that only  _he_  could give her – 

Only him, only this, only the moonlight and  _them_  as he tasted her, touched her, wanted and  _loved_  her in a way that Marianne had been so certain she would  _never_ experience - 

This time she  _did_  sob, holding him tight, her knuckles white.  _Oh God, I love you so much, Bog._

At that moment, Bog chose to rub his thumb over her clit as he murmured against her, his whisper ragged and worshipful.  _“Marianne…”_

And Marianne broke, her orgasm striking through her core with the white-hot intensity of lightning and sweeping over her with the crash of thunderous waves. Her knees crumpling, she fell back with a ragged wail –

Bog caught her, quickly standing up to clasp her to him, arms winding tight as he kissed her damp brow, mumbling soothing murmurs into her hair as she shuddered and shook like a leaf in his embrace. “Ye’re alright…” Bog said, low and loving, his voice still thick. “Ye’re alright, Tough Girl…” 

Marianne tried to get her breath back to even, tried to calm the thrum of her heart, closing her eyes to block out the moonlight lest it bewitch her further. She leaned her head against one of Bog’s broad shoulders, letting his scent wash over her, the feel of him surrounding her. Leather and wind, a rasp of stubble and the press of his lips on her brow.  _Oh God, he’s so…_

Marianne sucked in a shaky breath, finally daring to open her eyes, and Bog tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gazing down at her concernedly. “You…you  _are_  alright, right?” 

Marianne laughed, shaking her head even as echoes of pleasure thudded through her. “I am… _so_  beyond  _alright_.  _Alright_  looks at me with envy.”

Bog relaxed a bit at that, a smile tugging at his lips, and Marianne sank back against him, her eyes heavy with the glorious weight of an afterglow. “Thank you,” she murmured, and something swept over her, a fierce rush of emotion that had her snuggling against the soft leather of his jacket.  _“God, thank you so much.”_

He felt hot under her, and she knew he was blushing despite the little laugh he gave. “For what?” 

“For that.” Marianne looked up at him, hoping what was in her heart came through in her eyes. “For everything. It’s just…it’s been so long since…” 

Now it was her turn to flush, but Bog laughed before she could continue on, this one close to an exhale, a shy sort of embarrassment to it. “Probably not as long as it’s been for me, Tough Girl.” 

“That only means we get to make up for a  _lot_  of lost time, Your Majesty,” Marianne stated, her voice quite close to a purr. She bit down on a smile as Bog blushed even more fiercely. That he could go from performing such an act to blushing…

She quirked a brow at him. “So was this your plan all along? Lure me out here with motorcycles and moonlight, promise to wine and dine me with beer and ribs and then–?” 

“I’m not one to have ulterior motives,” Bog said dryly, though there was warm mischief in his eyes as he looked at her. “ _That_  was a delightful and sudden development brought on by  _your_  goading, love.”  

Marianne threw her head back and laughed, tapering off into giggles as she looked up at him. “Y’know, that’s only gonna give me incentive to goad you some more.” 

Bog pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, and she felt his lips curl in a smirk. “I look forward to it.”

 _Yeah, I bet you do._  Marianne smiled and then looked over her shoulder, a bit of a blush coming back to her cheeks as she took in his bike, remembering how she had been spread across it, so wanton and wild. God, of  _course_ he would do something that left both of her fantasies of the archive room and his desk in the dust.  _Motorcycles, moonlight, and Kings whose tongues are capable of all kinds of miracles. Biròg’s got ‘em all._

She bit down on soft snort of laughter as Bog cleared his throat a touch nervously. “Though…do you think you’d still be up for beer and ribs after that? We don’t  _have_  to –”

“A beer sounds  _great_  right now,” Marianne said, giving his lips a soft smooch. “That willow over there looks like the perfect place to nurse one, actually. As for the ribs…” she smiled impishly. “I’ll probably have some. I  _did_ kinda work up an appetite.” 

She expected Bog to roll his eyes, but he merely shrugged, looking away. “Speak for yourself. I already ate.” 

Marianne looked up at him, eyes wide.  _Oh my God, he did **not**  just –_

But the look in those bright blue eyes was positively wicked as he looked at her, a definite smirk crawling across his mouth. 

A sharp thrill of delight went through her _.“Oh my God.”_

Bog blushed, but his eyes didn’t lose that wickedly pleased look to them. “You needn’t act so surprised–”

Now Marianne was shaking, mirth making her knees buckle.  _“Oh my GOD.”_

Bog  _did_  roll his eyes then, stepping past her to go to his bike. “C’mon, Tough Girl –”

 _“I am,”_  Marianne got out between her peals of laughter,  _“never, **ever**  gonna let you forget that. _As of tonight, you have officially forfeited your right to roll your eyes whenever I make a sex joke–”

Bog rolled his eyes once more in blatant disregard of her proclamation. “An end of an era, aye?” 

“And a bright and glorious new future dawns,” Marianne agreed, wiping tears of mirth away from her eyes. 

“Be that as it may…” Bog said dryly, rummaging through the bag he had strapped to the bike, pulling out to bottles of beer and handing one to her, “…the dawn is still quite a ways off.” 

“Hmmm, guess so…” Marianne hummed, sidling closer to him and pulling on a leather sleeve of his jacket to wind an arm about her waist. Bog readily allowed himself to be manhandled so, and Marianne nuzzled into his embrace before pressing a kiss to one sharp cheek. 

Her whisper teased at his ear, soft and sly. “Good thing I’m such a fan of moonlight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, but I had far too much fun with this. Lord help me, I can’t wait to share Part Two of this…!


	2. Part Two: “At Last”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, IT IS READY! The long awaited, much anticipated, greatly frustrated Part Two!
> 
> For the record, Part One was fifteen pages. Part Two? THIRTY-FIVE PAGES. That’s around the average length to a "Between the Shadow and the Soul" chapter! Good Lord, why do I invite this upon myself…?
> 
> Oh yes, it's because I love this fanfic. 
> 
> I kept returning to some very specific songs whilst writing this second part, which I feel you ought to know:
> 
> The first one that features here is the lovely "Valse sur une berceuse anglaise" from the movie "Crimson Peak" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F2NmP7oR_0w). 
> 
> Song Number Two is "At Last", as covered by Eva Cassidy (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lI8SLLYUkCU )
> 
> The last two songs should be pretty obvious, but I'll credit them in the End Notes =) 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy!

**Part Two: “At Last”**

Marianne liked to think she was no longer  _too_  terribly naïve in the ways of the world, well-schooled in various forms of heartbreak what with the pain of losing Mom and the whole mess with Roland. 

But she could still be caught off guard. Like now. God, of  _course_  it would come to this. Couldn’t really have a ball without dancing, could you?

Said logic aside, the look Marianne gave Bog as they made their way through the crowd to the floor of the his Castle’s ballroom could have easily been called a glare if not for the rather helpless looking glint to her eyes. “I thought you said we could avoid dancing tonight,  _Your Majesty,”_  she hissed as softly as she could between teeth bared in a pleasant smile, torn between skewering him with her eyes and keeping her feet from tangling with her skirts. 

She could tell Bog would have dearly liked to scowl, but considering how many photographers were present at the gala, the rabid speculation that would arise at a picture of the King of Biròg and his  _lovely lady-friend_ (Marianne had laughed herself sick over the new moniker the tabloids had bestowed upon her) staring daggers at each other was a risk he didn’t dare take. 

He contented himself with a grimace, tugging at the collar of his tux slightly. “I said I  _hoped_ we could,” he muttered, and Marianne felt long fingers slide over slippery silk and beads and lace as his hand spanned across her waist, the grip of it tightening. Whether the action was meant to comfort her or keep himself from throwing an obscene gesture the cameras way, Marianne couldn’t tell. “I  _thought_ we could, but as soon as my mother opened her mouth—”

“You mother is not the sole contributing factor here and you  _know_  it,” Marianne shot back, sweeping her skirts up as gracefully as she could manage while walking in heels. 

“If you’re referring to the presence of the string quartet,” Bog gritted out, forsaking his collar to tug at his cufflinks as the crowd murmured in anticipation, “I had bloody  _nothing_  to do with that, they’re always here for the balls—”

“Well, now they’re gonna see some action,” Marianne groused, tucking the fingers of her free hand tight to keep them from fussing with her hair. 

There was a gentle touch at her elbow, and Marianne paused to look up into genuinely worried bright blue. “You don’t  _have_  to do this, you know,” Bog murmured, long face serious. “I’m used to Mother pulling stuff like this, but I won’t have her bully you if you don’t—”

“You’re mother isn’t a bully,” Marianne interrupted, any annoyance over the twist tonight had taken melting as she gazed into clear, concerned blue. She continued on, soft and sincere. “I know you don’t want to make me uncomfortable or force anything on me, and I appreciate that, really. But I  _can_  take care of myself. Besides…” she looked to the dance floor and shrugged, keeping her voice light as she continued on, “…we  _were_  due for a first dance.” 

Never mind how she  _had_  hoped for that to be private—

Bog took in the almost fierce earnestness of her expression and sighed, low and weary. “If you’re  _certain—”_

“I am,” Marianne affirmed, keeping her head high as she took a step forward to prove said certainty. She paused, biting her lip before continuing on a bit reluctantly. “Just…be prepared to catch me if I fall.” 

“Already have practice at that,” Bog murmured, a sly slant to his lips. 

Marianne swiftly and calmly put her heels to good use, and was quite impressed by how Bog was able to transform his pained grunt into a discreet cough.  _Skills, Your Majesty._

They finally reached the edge of the crowd, the dance floor stretching smoothly before them, undeniably intimidating in its vast emptiness. The highly polished marble was as dark and glittering as the night sky, and for one fanciful moment Marianne wondered if this would be like dancing amongst the stars. Reality swiftly returned as Bog took a calm, measured breath before he stepped out onto the floor, Marianne following after on his arm. 

There was a smattering of polite applause and eagerness on every photographer’s face as they trained their cameras at the couple. The string quartet quickly conversed amongst themselves, no doubt trying to select the perfect piece for such a momentous occasion. Marianne, meanwhile, tried to concentrate on not surrendering to the wave of queasiness cresting within her. “I  _really_  hope I don’t tear this dress…” she muttered. 

“Nor do I.” Bog’s hand was suddenly at the small of her back, and Marianne’s heart jumped as he took her hand in his, palm pressing dry and warm against her own. His smiled was slanted, holding just a hint of heat. “Remind me to thank Mother for finding it.” 

Marianne blushed but bit down on a grin. No matter how great her irritation over Griselda’s little ploy was, she owed her a debt over finding her such a number.

The burgundy-rose silk hugged her curves just right, before falling smooth as water in a graceful mermaid skirt, the asymmetrical hem greatly appreciated what with the dangers her heels posed. Marianne had raised a doubtful brow at the pale shade of the gauze and lace overlay, a gray that called to mind ashes and ice, but the contrast of it over the warmth of the dusky rosewine was subtle and bold and unquestionably gorgeous. 

The multitude of millions of tiny, iridescent beads stitched all over the fabric had it shimmering like it had been dusted with stars, and each movement of Marianne’s made the gown catch all kinds of light, glittering like frost and flickering like a flame. Add to that the chill sparkle of a borrowed but beautiful diamond and amethyst necklace…

She couldn’t pretend the gasps and murmurs of admiration from the crowd as she had entered the ballroom with Bog hadn’t been immensely gratifying, and her pleased smile had only grown when she saw Bog smirk, his eyes fixed ahead but pride making the blue of them even brighter. 

Marianne bit down on the grin that threatened to bloom on her face. She had once dreaded such a situation, on the arm of a man and all eyes on her. But…she supposed  _which_  man it was made all the difference. 

Roland had always loved attention, would have used her and thrust her into the limelight without any regard, have her on his arm as some kind of glorified bauble, some trophy he had won. He would have been proud of his cleverness in  _catching_  her, using her to gain even more. 

Whereas Bog…

Bog hated attention as much as she did, and had endlessly asked her if she  _truly_  wanted to go through with this, repeatedly reassuring her that if at any moment she was uncomfortable, she could leave the party with no questions asked. Bog’s throat had worked with a slight gulp as she had placed her hand in his, had glanced down at the sight various times as if to check it wasn’t just some figment of his imagination, acting as though having her on his arm was an honor for  _him_. 

Bog…Bog was proud  _for_  her. She didn’t even think to question it, she knew it with such certainty, felt it with such conviction. 

Besides, Roland  _never_ liked her to wear such dark makeup, fancy gown or not. Bog had actually gaped as she had walked down the grand, sweeping staircase of his Castle, and Marianne had had to resist the wicked temptation of letting her hips sway a bit more. Best if she didn’t, what with how he was already reacting. There was no denying the decidedly besotted look in his eyes as he took in her smoky eyes and rouged lips, painted a lush burgundy that matched her dress quite nicely. A thrill of pleasure had shivered down Marianne’s spine.  _Another dozen points to Bog, Roland forever at fucking nil._

Now she playfully cocked an eyebrow at him, hoping her makeup set off her smolder. “I will. But if I  _do_  trip…” she murmured, a smile teasing at her dark lips, “Like I said…catch me when I fall.”  

The blue of his eyes burned soft.  _“Always.”_

Marianne had a brief moment to savor the shiver his voice sent through her, and then Bog was giving a short nod to the quartet, and they raised their instruments as one.  

Lush music filled the air, sweet and elegant as fine perfume, and Marianne was all too happy to surrender control to Bog as he lead her in a waltz. While she had no faith in her own ability – physical prowess in kickboxing was one thing, dancing was a whole other beast entirely – Marianne was pleased to find that despite the difference in their heights, Bog knew damn well what he was doing, guiding her with an ease that bordered on grace. 

Marianne’s skirts flared as Bog suddenly spun her out, and she couldn’t help but give a laugh born of adrenaline and the undeniable thrill of the moment. The crowd laughed as well, charmed, and when Marianne twirled back to him, a cheeky grin met his smirk. “ _Showoff.”_

“You don’t seem to mind,” Bog retorted, still smirking. 

Marianne rolled her eyes indulgently as they swept over the floor, letting the music take them away. They passed by where Griselda was keeping watch, her small eyes eager and her hands clasped happily as she took in the splendor of the scene. At her side was another woman about her age, her pale hair teased into a high bouffant and a stark contrast to the warm caramel of her skin. She was dressed head to toe in shimmering blue and also watched the dance with avid interest, eyes merry and bright. Marianne gave them a tiny grimace as she and Bog danced past, making both women titter with delighted amusement _._

“Don’t expect any apologies from them.” Bog’s voice was low and almost husky, and Marianne nearly tripped. “I know for a fact that neither Mother nor Aunt Plum have the capacity for shame.”

Marianne huffed out a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good thing I’ve had practice with Dawn.”

Bog snorted, turning her in a deft spin. “Fair enough. How is she, by the way?” 

Though his tone was dry, his half–smile was fond, and Marianne felt a warm little glow of affection and thankfulness that he genuinely  _liked_  Dawn. Honestly, gratitude probably factored a great deal into that affection, considering the fact that if hadn’t been for her little sister’s scheming, they’d have never met. “She’s good. She and Sunny are visiting his family. She was super worried that his mother wouldn’t like her, but they all adore her, big surprise.” She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Never mind the  _ridiculousness_  of not wanting a Princess for a daughter–in–law.”

The words had scarcely left her mouth when the blue of Bog’s eyes flashed up to hers and she realized with keen mortification the implication of such words.  _God fucking dammit_. 

Griselda must be getting to her, what with how she had been dropping hints with all the subtly of bombs – clever proposal videos they just  _had_  to see, gorgeous wedding dresses that would suit Marianne  _perfectly_ , exotic honeymoon locations that were said to be  _very_  romantic—

_—“Have you ever been to Paris, Marianne? City of Love, you know!”—_

_—_ and here she was, putting her foot into her mouth with absolutely no help at all.  _A–fucking–plus, Marianne._

Unsurprisingly, Bog’s cheeks were flushed when he dropped his gaze, and Marianne could feel the same burn prickling across hers. “I–I, um, I didn’t—”

“Your sister seems to inspire affection wherever she goes.” Bog was keeping his eyes to their feet now, but his steps didn’t falter, and his hand remained steady as it held hers. “Princess or not…anyone would be lucky to have her as family.” 

Now her blush covered far more than her cheeks, but this one was born of pleasure. God, but was he racking up the brownie points tonight. “Yeah…” she agreed as she twined her fingers tighter with his, “…they would be. Honestly, sometimes I  _still_  can’t believe I am.” 

_Lucky enough to have her, lucky enough to have a family now, lucky enough to be loved—_

Bog’s eyes once more flashed up to hers, and Marianne felt a shiver chase down her spine at the look in them. “It goes both ways, Tough Girl,” he said, his voice low, his tone tender and serious. “She’s lucky to have you.” His thumb stroked over hers. “Anyone would be.”

Marianne had to pointedly remind herself to breathe, _breathe **and**  blink, goddammit. _She shook her head slightly, her laugh closer to an exhale, and the look she aimed at him was as tender as it was teasing. “Y’know, when I said to catch me if I fall, I didn’t mean it as encouragement to try and make me actually  _swoon_ —”

“Like  _you_  would ever  _swoon_ ,” Bog retorted even as he dipped her deeply, causing the cameras in the room to go haywire, a storm of pops and clicks and flashes exploding about them. 

Marianne let herself be slightly evil and hooked her leg up around Bog’s when he pulled her up, bringing their bodies flush together. Bog’s suddenly wide eyes and unmistakable gulp did not escape her, and Marianne took them with a satisfied sense of victory. Her smile was sweet for the cameras, but her voice was a purr that smoldered like her eyes. “Maybe you’re forgetting a certain night involving moonlight and motorcycles, Your Majesty, but  _I_  didn’t.” A hand stroked along the strong line of his shoulders to tease at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing at his hair. “I remember getting pretty damn close to  _swooning_  then—”

Bog quickly pulled her into a spin that turned her away from the cameras, a blush once more burning across the sharp line of his cheeks. But there was no sign of mortification or retribution in his expression, just a deliciously darkening to his gaze as he held her close, one that sent a sharp thrill sparking through Marianne. When he spoke, his voice was back to husky. “This is trouble, Tough Girl.” 

She smiled at the familiar words and let her fingers card through his hair, not caring how blatant they were being, not caring about anything other than how his eyes were burning as he looked at her, so beautiful and blue. “You like it.” 

“A fact tha’ ye happily torture me with.” And now  _his_  fingers were teasing at  _her_ , nails softly dragging along the smooth slope of her spine, sending a bushfire of shivers through her. But it was the brush of his lips against the shell of her ear that had her heart thudding, his drawl as deliciously rough as his stubble that made her knees weak. “Lucky Ah know how to  _give_  as good as Ah  _get_ …” 

_Holy fucking **hell.**_

Marianne pulled back from him, and Bog’s brow furrowed before he took in her flushed face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and his expression got as hungry as she felt. God, they were  _so_  giving the photographers their money’s worth tonight—

Marianne licked her lips, an action that darkened Bog’s eyes and had her heartbeat growing even more wild. She fought for control and glanced about the ballroom, noticing with some dazed surprise that the waltz the quartet had been playing had segued into another one, other couples now dancing about them. 

Marianne looked back up at Bog, eyes wide and heart still thudding. “How many more dances do we have to have here?” she breathed. 

Fucking  _hell,_  to think that she had thought Bog’s eyes had burned before now. “Just this one.” 

“You sure?” 

“King’s decision. Ah’ll make it a bloody decree.” He stepped back and Marianne had a brief moment of confusion before he dropped the hand on her shoulder to her waist, swiftly pulling her to his side as he began to make his way off the dance floor. Bog’s face was carefully neutral as he looked ahead, but his jaw was clenched and his voice was a low growl when he spoke, caught by his teeth. “Ta hell with excuses,  _we’re leavin’.”_

The fingers at the curve of her waist flexed as if to punctuate his sentence, and Marianne had to bite down on an excited squeal. Nevertheless, she managed to give him a smile that was the careful balance of a razor’s edge between snarky and saucy. “And what, anyone who tries to stop us gets declared traitors to the crown?” 

The careful control Bog had on his expression fell as he smirked at her, slow and wicked. “It  _is_  treasonous ta go against th’ desires of one’s King, Tough Girl.”  

_Especially if said King happens to be feeling pretty fucking full of desire just then—_

Marianne’s returning smirk was just as dangerous, even as her heart thrilled. “Then I guess the sooner we get out of here, the better.” She chanced a glance over her shoulder, biting her lip. “Just make sure your mom doesn’t see.” 

Bog’s chuckle was low and dark as he quickly led them through the partygoers, no one fool enough to stop them. “She got her dance from us, she’ll be fine. Like Ah said, she’s only too happy ta be our secret weapon.” 

Marianne snorted, still looking for the Queen Mother. But when she caught the older woman’s eye, a jolt of happy surprise went through her as Griselda only gave her the tiniest of waves, a fondly indulgent expression on her face. 

She then barked out a couple of commands, all photographers swiveling their cameras to her to catch whatever she was saying. The woman next to her – Aunt Plum, Bog had called her – laughed merrily before trilling out some orders of her own, and soon everyone was paying attention to them. 

Making a get away all too easy. 

Griselda gave the tiniest of winks to Marianne through the crowd, beady eyes sparkling with warm wickedness.  _I’ll hold down the fort. You two behave._

Marianne blinked but then grinned, excitement and desire sparking through her blood as she and Bog finally made it to the edge of the ballroom, and she had to hold back a laugh as they ducked out one of the enormous, ornately carved doors into the expansive hall with its iron wrought candelabras and dark wood paneling, empty of anyone else and full of shadows and silence.  _Can’t promise you that, Griselda._

Bog’s normally grim face was full of happy mischief, grinning at her before tugging at her hand and leading her down the hall, nearly running. Marianne swiftly gathered up her skirts with her free hand to keep up with him, taking three steps to each of his one and nearly breathless from laughter. He obviously was taking her someplace, someplace deeper into the shadows, maybe right into another batch of trouble. 

But Marianne found that as long as she held his hand, the idea of such a fate only made her head spin and her heart race all the more, and it wasn’t from dread.   _God, I trust him so much—_

And so, clutching her skirts and managing her heels, shadows flying past and laughter echoing off the polished wood, Marianne followed Bog, her hand holding his just as tight. 

* * *

“I’m pretty sure,” Marianne managed to get out between gasps of laughter as she sank against the doorway they had both just come through, the wood cool on her bare back, “that ditching your own ball is considered  _very_  poor manners for a King—”

 _“Different,”_  Bog corrected, his voice colored with a barely held back chuckle as he closed and locked the doors with a satisfying  _thunk_. “Merely a  _different_ approach, nothing more.”  

Marianne sighed long and loud as the adrenaline of their race faded to a pleasant buzz, content just to look at him. God, but happiness transformed his face so much it was honestly fucking  _incredible_. Gaunt and stern became something almost boyish, all his sharp angles softening under laughter. She shook her head wonderingly. She could still remember a time when  _creepy skeletal butler from a cult horror film_  had been the best description she could come up with for his looks, but now…

Everything had changed. Now no descriptions could do him justice. Bog was Bog, the man she adored with every inch of her heart. 

He was also the man who was currently rocking that tux so damn hard it was all Marianne could do to keep herself from knocking him to the floor and tearing it off to have her wild, wicked and wonderful way with him.  She instead ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth, letting her eyes linger on the strong, broad line of Bog’s shoulders in his jacket, the cut of it clinging to his tall, lean physique. The smoldering that had sparked deep within her during their dance intensified with an urgent pulse, heat twisting deliciously through her groin. Hell, it really  _was_  a damn good thing they had escaped from the ballroom when they did.  _Although…_

Marianne pushed herself away from the doors, skirts sliding over the floor with a soft whisper as she walked further into the shadowy room they had claimed as their sanctuary. “Speaking of  _different_ …” Marianne murmured, looking around curiously, “…this is new.” 

Such a statement wasn’t completely unwarranted. Bog had given as many tours around his Castle as she had wanted when she had first came to Biròg, and Marianne considered herself well-versed in the dark, almost gothic décor of the Castle. Between the heavy drapes on the tall windows that effectively cut off any sunlight from entering, the subtle but undeniably ornate carvings that crawled across all wooden surfaces (all of which was a richly dark hue found only in Biròg’s infamous forests) and the sharp lines and angles that led to all sorts of interesting nooks and crannies, it had been easy for Marianne to imagine she had fallen through the pages of a Bronte novel or had replaced Belle in the Beast’s castle. Honestly, the library Bog had shown her hadn’t helped…

But this room…this room  _was_  different. Though it was as full of the same shadows so beloved throughout the Castle, there was none of the cultivated gloomy majesty that brooded over the rest of the grounds. This room was… _open_ , spacious and octagonal in shape, floored not with the usual black marble but with a dark mahogany that had the same shine but held more warmth, polished to a gleaming satiny smoothness. Tall and graceful columns of the same wood stood strong and proud along the perimeter of the room, reminding Marianne of trees. 

Her heels clicking, she walked over to one to stroke a hand over the silky dark sheen of it. They supported a balcony that ran all along the next level, the balustrade a carved interlocking of vines crafted from the same wood. The gloom of the night made it difficult to see, but if she squinted Marianne could make out endless shelves of books, stretching along each of the eight walls and reaching up to a domed, wrought iron skylight that revealed the velvety blue-blackness of the heavens, speckled with the glittering pin-pricks of stars. Marianne imagined that when the rare bit of sunlight occurred, one could dare to call this place  _airy._

Biting her lip to keep her chuckle back, Marianne dropped her eyes back down to examine the rest of the room. Beyond the columns was a fairly modest fireplace – modest for a Castle, that is – and some of the expected wing-backed chairs, upholstered in supple dark brown leather. There was also a sprawling chaise lounge, its lush green velvet so dark it was almost black. Marianne’s feet gave a pitiful throb at the sight of it, and she rolled her eyes in acceptance.  _Yeah, definitely need to lie down on you later_. 

Two tall French doors on the other side of the room overlooked the vast, sprawling gardens that the Castle boasted, dense forests looming not far beyond it. They let in more light than the skylight did, moonlight pouring through the glass and painting what it could with silvery sweetness. Marianne playfully swished her skirt as she crossed in front of them, smiling at the glitter of the moonlight on the beads, their sparkle like stardust. Bog made a noise caught between amusement and soft appreciation, but otherwise seemed quite happy to watch her explore.

Marianne reached the next pillar and leaned against it, her eyes adjusting a bit more to the dark. The paneling on the lower half of the walls matched the floor, and the wallpaper that decorated the rest of it had to be one of the most lavishly detailed ones Marianne had ever seen, charcoal gray and inky black depicting a veritable forest of trees and branches and vines upon a background of mossy green. The walls were fit with the usual wrought iron lamp fixtures, and Marianne was inexplicably reminded of Narnia, that one lone lamp amongst the woods. She and Mom had always read the first of the series each Christmas…

But it was what else was on the walls that had her giving a gasp and walking to them, eyes wide and wondering. Framed and matted posters of all kinds of classic rock bands hung there: Queen, The Beatles, Johnny Cash, and – yup, there was Elvis, more than one in fact. There were a few black and white photographs of motorcycles too, and old vintage albums housed in shadow box frames. There was even an exceptionally large one that proudly displayed what was undoubtedly a dearly sought-after antique electric guitar.  _Wow…_

Marianne shook her head, torn between wonderment and bewilderment. “What  _is_ this place?” 

“It  _was_  built to be a ballroom.” Bog had come up behind her unobserved, making her start. She quickly tried to hide it, but there was still a hint of a smile to Bog’s voice as he continued on. “One of the smaller ones, obviously, for more intimate parties. One of my grandfathers turned it into a library of sorts for his private collection. Since then, each King has kept it for his own personal use. My father continued the tradition before he…well, before I inherited it.” Marianne turned just in time to him to see him give a shrug, his face somewhere between weary and thoughtful. “He said anyone who had to give himself to the country ought to have one place where he could be himself first, not the King.” 

Marianne’s heart gave a soft ache at his words, at the obvious meaning this room carried for him.  _Definitely not just some glorified man cave, then._  “So all of this was your father’s?”

Bog laughed. “Only the books. The rest is mine. I guess you could call it a collection of sorts.” 

Marianne gave a spin, taking it all in once more. “Hell of a collection, Your Majesty. Does being royalty give you an edge when you’re hunting on eBay?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” he returned dryly, rolling his eyes at her cheeky grin. “Ruling a country tends to eat up the time needed for that, Tough Girl. Many of these were gifts.” 

“Gotcha.” Marianne crossed her arms and pondered the picture of Freddie Mercury before her before continuing on, her voice light and innocent. “So how many of these Elvis posters were your mother’s?” 

Bog barked out a laugh. “Would you believe me if I said only two? The rest she refuses to part with.” 

“How greedy of her.” Marianne moved on to look at some of the black and white pictures, admiring the curve of light the photographer had captured on the front fender. “These are  _nice._  Did you become a fan of motorcycles or the photographer first?” 

Bog gave a cough that was almost nervous. “ _Ah_ …motorcycles first. Those…those are mine, actually.” 

Marianne turned to look at him, arching a brow in surprise. “Really? I don’t recognize any of them. Were they the first bikes you got or—?”

“No,  _ah,_  the photos. I took them.” Bog scratched at his ear before raising one shoulder in a shrug. “Amateur photography was a hobby of mine when I was younger.” He joined her to look at the pictures before giving a grimace.  _“Very_ amateur.” 

Marianne could only stare at him, eyes wide and shocked.  _“You did—?_  Bog, these are  _gorgeous_.” 

Bog’s blush was evident even through the dark. “C’mon, Tough Girl—”

“I don’t give empty compliments, Your Majesty,” Marianne reminded him, giving his arm a poke. “You have some serious skill. Why did you stop?” 

Bog ducked his head, his heavy brow shadowing his eyes but the soft, sudden gleam of pain still apparent. “It…brought back too many memories, I suppose. It was one of the things we shared.” 

Marianne touched his arm softly, her voice full of quiet sympathy. “You and your father?” 

Bog breathed deep. “No, uh—me and Maura. She…well, it was something we used to do.” 

Marianne’s heart gave a painful thud.  ** _Oh_** _._

Oh God fucking  _dammit_ , of fucking  _course_ she would accidently find a way to rub  _more_ fucking salt into that wound—

Marianne withdrew her hand, burning with guilt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

But his hand caught hers, long fingers twining with her own. “I know you didn’t, Tough Girl. It’s fine, truly.” Bog’s smile was soft and only a little bit bittersweet. “I wouldn’t keep the photographs here if it wasn’t. Besides, these were taken before…well, before everything.” 

Marianne gave his hand a soft squeeze before turning back to look at the pictures once more, considering them with new eyes. The smoky haze of the exhaust and the sharp gleam of the metal captured in timeless, evocative black and white represented so much more now – a happier, simpler time, one where his heart hadn’t been scarred by losses, where he had been free to pursue such a hobby. 

_One he shared with her…_

Marianne bit her lip. She wasn’t jealous – at least, she didn’t  _think_  she was, not in the normal sense. She wasn’t jealous of Maura— _a name, she finally had a name_ —sharing such a thing with Bog. It was good that Bog had found a way to reclaim something that  _hadn’t_  been wiped out by his heartbreak, strong of him to remember and keep mementos of the good moments that relationship had had, no matter how sour it ended up being…

Marianne continued to worry at her lip, her eyes narrowing at the photograph. No, it wasn’t that she was jealous of  _Maura_ …

But…

She licked her lips and wondered if she dared to voice what was stirring in her heart. After a few moments of a silent struggle back-and-forth, she decided to hell with it. She trusted Bog, trusted that he would understand. “Y’know…Roland and I…we never had something like that. No hobbies we did together.” 

Bog looked at her sharply, the heavy line of his brows furrowing, and Marianne dropped her eyes from the photograph to watch the moonlight spill across the floor, silver dappling across darkness. “I mean, sure, we both worked at Mom’s company, but…yeah. Year and a half, and  _nothing_.” She huffed out a sigh, rough and angry. “God, it was always such a fucking  _lie_. I used to think he was everything I wanted, but – we had nothing in common.  _Nothing_. We were never even  _close_  to a real couple, but I was just so damn  _ready_  to believe—”

She stopped and flushed, mortification hot on her cheeks and the back of her neck. “God, I’m sorry, I’m making this all about me—”

“You’re not, Tough Girl. It’s fine, truly.” There was an extra depth of tenderness to the words, and the blue of Bog’s eyes gleamed with pained understanding. “Getting used like that, hurt like that…you’re always going to look back and see something else you should have paid attention to…” 

His mouth got grim, and he looked back at the photographs, his profile stark and stern, half-cast in shadow. “You always wonder what would have happened if your eyes had opened just a bit earlier…” 

Marianne’s heart throbbed with painful empathy. Small wonder she trusted him so much. He  _knew_ , knew what it was like to question  _everything_ , find isolation and loneliness easier after getting so horribly hurt.  She stepped closer to him, rubbing her cheek at his arm like a cat, the material of his tux soft under her skin. “Do you ever  _stop_  wondering?” she asked softly. 

He looked down at her, a soft smile washing away the grimness his face had gathered, his eyes getting bright and blue and tender once more. “If you’re lucky enough to meet someone else.” A hand reached up around her to hug her to his side, tucking her close. “Someone who makes you wonder in a  _different_  way.”

Marianne bit her lip to keep a heartfelt tremble of a sigh in.  _Me._ God, _she_ was the one to give him that difference—

And even more incredibly, it went both ways. While the scars Roland had left could still flare up angry and sore…Bog was there to soothe the sting. 

Bog brushed a kiss to the crown of her head, and she felt his grin. “Someone who makes bluntness a point of pride.”

Marianne nudged him with her shoulder, grinning as well. “Watch it, Your Majesty.” 

Bog merely cocked a brow at her, lips slanting in a grin. “Am I making it really,  _really_  hard not to punch me?” 

Marianne let her head roll back in a playfully dramatic groan. God, he  _would_  remember that conversation.  _“No,_ but name calling might happen.  _Jerk.”_

Bog chuckled, moving so he could nuzzle at the nape of her neck. “Duly noted,  _Tough Girl.”_

Marianne returned the caress, wriggling herself deeper into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. The sheer height difference between them could be a proper pain in the ass, but there  _were_  definite advantages to it. She leaned her head against his chest, his crisp white dress shirt crinkling a bit beneath her cheek as she savored the steadiness of his heartbeat, how it anchored her so. Bog ran his hands up her arms, palms large and rough and warm, undoubtedly doing some savoring of his own before giving a soft oath. “Hell, I almost forgot—”

Marianne leaned back to look at him worriedly. “What’s wrong?” 

Bog shook his head as he stepped back, and Marianne felt the coolness of the shadows even more intensely now that she was bereft of his arms. “Nothing, just – I brought you here to show you something else—” 

Marianne arched a brow before Bog took her hand and led her to one of the corners. There, tucked between some bookshelves by the fireplace and a small spiral staircase up to the second floor, was—

“A jukebox,” Marianne whispered, before throwing her head back in a delighted, shocked laugh. “Holy shit, you actually own a  _jukebox?!”_

“Aye,” Bog replied, looking far too pleased with himself, and the look he gave the machine was damn near affectionate. “As soon as I started showing some interest in her music, Mother shamelessly did everything in her power to—”

“Tempt you further to the dark side?” Marianne grinned. 

Bog groaned, shaking his head mournfully though the playful mischief in his eyes somewhat negated it. “I don’t know  _what_  it was to leave you with such a prejudice against Elvis, but even you can admit that this is—”

“It’s  _lovely,”_  Marianne declared grandly, dark eyes sparkling with mischief as well. “I bet you were  _all shook up_  when you got it—”

He gave her side a soft pinch, and Marianne’s yelp was colored by a laugh. “When you’re done mockin’, Tough Girl, take yourself to the floor. I want to see if you recognize this number…” 

Marianne gave a dramatic huff but did as he said, speaking over her shoulder. “Really hoping that thing isn’t just dedicated to the King—”

“That’s excessive, even for me,” Bog returned dryly, likewise speaking over his shoulder as he flipped through the records, obviously searching for something in particular. 

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” Marianne murmured, making Bog give a slight growl. She merely continued to walk away, letting her hips sway a bit more than usual, hoping he was watching if only to make what he was doing that much more difficult. She was gratified to hear a short, sharp inhale and smirked to herself. Causing a King to catch his breath did wonders for a girl’s confidence. 

Still smiling, she took the time to glance around the room. God, but it was honestly beautiful. Between the tall wood pillars and the lush wallpaper, the silvery light of the moon and the softness of the shadows, it was like she was in the middle of a forest… 

Suddenly the soft strum of guitar strings filled the air, slow and steady and sultry. Marianne’s heart gave a fierce ache of recognition at the familiar chords before she gave a breathless laugh. “So…the King of Biròg is an Etta fan too?” 

“You could say that,” Bog replied, his smile curving slow across his face as he walked to her, steps unhurried and eyes drinking her in as she stood between moonlight and shadow, the blue of them so bright. “But it’s also… _different_.”

Marianne was about to ask him what the heck he meant when a woman’s voice began to croon, soft and scratchy, the warmth of it like whisky. Marianne’s eyes widened before she closed them, her heart thudding unsteadily.  _“Oh my God…”_  she breathed.  _“Eva Cassidy.”_

“You’re a fan too?” Bog asked, his low, gently rough brogue the most perfect counterpoint to the melody.

Marianne’s laugh was rather thick. “Um,  _yes_ , I am. And…this just so happens to be my absolute favorite cover of this song.” Holy hell, did Dawn tell him this? Did  _she_  even tell Dawn this? Or was this just a—

“Me too,” Bog said, his confession low, his tone intimate and unguarded. “Ah…Ah always had th’ hope of…” He stopped, the flush to his cheeks apparent even in the shadows of the room before he continued on. “Of…findin’ someone who…” 

He stopped once more and looked down, furrowing his brow, obviously getting frustrated with himself. When he looked back up at her, the determination in his eyes made the blue of them even more intense. “Ah need ta ask ye somethin’, Tough Girl.” 

Marianne’s whole world began to spin as her heart started to race.  _Oh **God.**_

_Oh holy fucking God, is he honestly going to—?_

Bog took another step to her, his eyes never leaving her face. “Ah know this evening has been…overwhelming. And tha’ this life…this world…it can scare people off.” He looked back down, his jaw tensing, and while Marianne thought of her mother, she knew he was thinking about Maura. “But ye’ve proved time an’ time again tha’ ye’re more than willing to take on anythin’ that scares ye.” He looked back up at her, smiling slightly. “Ye’ve bloody well earned yer nickname, Tough Girl. But…Ah’d like ta make it up ta ye.” 

He stopped in front of her, gently reaching for her hand. Marianne clutched at it, her heart thundering and her fingers slipping over his rough knuckles as he brought it toward him, his face intent.  _Oh my God oh my God oh my God—_

Bog eyes were sweet and steady with sincerity, the blue of them brilliant. “Would ye care for a first dance? A proper one?” 

Marianne stared.

And then her smile nearly split her face, and she ducked her head down to hide how her eyes – and cheeks – glowed.  _“A proper one?”_

“A  _private_ one,” Bog clarified, looking torn between wanting to laugh as well and nerves. “Ah just – that’s what Ah had wanted, for – um –  _us_ , before Mother decided to—” 

Marianne’s laugh was soft and warm as she closed the distance between them. “First you recreate our first date…” she murmured, her lips brushing against his, their fingers twining and tangling together, “…and now this. Forget  _flirt_. You’re an unabashed  _romantic_ , Your Majesty.” 

Bog snorted, the roll of his eyes negated by the smile that tugged at his lips. “If yer gonna keep at it with the name callin’—”

Any further complaints were stopped by Marianne’s kiss, as slow and sweet as she could make it. Even if she had thought he had been about to—well,  _whatever_ —it had nothing on the fact that he had instinctively known she had wanted their first dance to be theirs and theirs alone…

Bog sighed into the kiss, and Marianne smiled before gently pulling back, her eyes as starry as the night sky above them. “Yes,” she said softly, stroking her hands up the lapels of his tux to loop at his neck. “I’d  _love_  to have a private,  _proper_ first dance with you.” Her smile became equal parts impish and delighted. “We were due for one.” 

And there was also the fact that she’d  _never_  get tired of being in his arms, held so tight and treasured, so  _loved—_

Bog’s looked deep into her eyes, ascertaining if she was telling the truth.  Marianne met his gaze, tender and true as her fingers stroked at the hair that curled at the nape of his neck. Bright blue searched golden amber before a warm, almost foolishly happy smile curved across his sharp face and he stepped back, looking over his shoulder. “Let me turn th’ lights on, it’ll make it easier to see—”

Marianne pulled him back to her, her voice like her touch, soft but firm. “No, don’t. I like this, really.” She looked at the French doors and smiled. “And I can see just fine. The moonlight  _is_ perfect right now.”

Bog’s expression was so achingly happy it almost hurt to look upon him. His hand curled around hers, fingers stroking soft and steady lines across her palm. “Tha’ it is. Best we put it to good use.” 

Marianne hummed and drew him close, and there soon there wasn’t a sliver of space between them, Bog’s hand stroking along the curve of her spine while the other held hers as they swayed soft and slow, surrendering to music and shadows as Eva sang on.

_“At last…_

_My love has come along…_

_My lonely days are over,_

_And life is like a song…”_

It was so easy for her head to fall once more against his heartbeat, so easy to for her eyes to flutter further and further closed, shadows and moonlight dappling across the trees and vines of the wallpaper, the glow of it burnishing the tall pillars soft and silver as the bark of trees at night.

_“At last…_

_The skies above are blue…_

_And my heart was wrapped in clover,_

_The night I looked at you…”_

_This_  was the dance they deserved, the first  _true_  one between them. A dance that was all theirs, wrapped in each others arms and lost in a forest of their own making, a forest full of moonlight and music…

_“I found a dream that I could speak to_

_A dream that I could call my own._

_I found a thrill to press my cheek to,_

_A thrill that I have never known…”_

Bog nuzzled at her cheek before moving onto the tender skin of the crook of her neck, his breath soft and warm as he inhaled, the rasp of it filled with such obvious contentment and pleasure that Marianne was tempted to chuckle. Instead, she tipped her head back, hoping that the pale, slender stretch of her neck called to Bog as fiercely as her want for him did, twisting through her in a smoldering coil.

Bog did not disappoint and readily turned his attention there, the curve of his sharp nose nudging along the line of it before his mouth took over, pressing kisses right above the cool weight of her necklace to the pulse that fluttered like a pair of butterfly wings. The rasp of his stubble, the softness of his lips…all of it sent shivers scattering over Marianne’s skin and a charge of want sparking across her nerves, desire pooling deep within her, molten and magnificent. She gave a low, throaty noise of encouragement and felt Bog smirk against her sensitive flesh. 

_“You smiled…_

_And then the spell was cast._

_And here we are…in heaven…”_

Marianne brought her head back up to his, their lips brushing close and her blood burning through her with the heat only  _he_  could stoke to such sweet smoldering.  _Only him, only him and me and shadows and music and moonlight, holy hell, it really is damn near heaven—_

_“For you are mine_

_At last…”_

After so much pain, all the heartbreak and loss and lies…she had someone who loved her.

She had  _him._

Heart aching and full, Marianne stood up on her toes as much as her heels would let her, lips brushing against the curve of his ear.  _“For you are mine…”_  she sang, echoing Eva, voice sultry and soft and all for him. Bog shivered, and Marianne grinned before finishing, the lyric both triumphant and tender.  _“At last…”_

 _I’ve waited so long for you, Bog_. 

Bog’s embrace tightened around her, cradling her close. “An’ Ah feel like Ah’ve been searchin’ so damn long for ye, Tough Girl,” he murmured into her hair, and Marianne belatedly realized she must have spoken those words aloud. Strangely enough, it brought her no embarrassment. 

Bog continued on, low and rough and wondering. “An’ Ah dinnae even bludy  _know_ it. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Real love usually is,” Marianne admitted, unabashedly cuddling as close as she could get to him. 

Bog gave her brow a kiss before looking around the room, his exhale close to a sigh, long and meditative. “I meant what I said earlier. I never thought I’d find someone to share this with…”

“This song?” Marianne queried, her smile falling just a touch short of teasing. God, he really  _was_  a closet romantic.  

But Bog shook his head, though a smile crept across his lips as he continued to look around, savoring the shadows and moonlight they were so happily lost in. “Well,  _aye,_  that too, but…I meant  _this._  This room. I’ve never shared it with anyone, not even Maura.” 

Marianne went still, the dance stopping with her heart. 

_“I’ve never shared it with anyone, not even—”_

_Anyone_ , he had never shared this with  _anyone_  before, this private sanctuary that was all his,  _no one_ , not even the woman he had so desperately loved, who he had wanted to marry—

_“I’ve never shared it with anyone—”_

And he was sharing it with  _her_. 

Her heart was thudding so fast Marianne almost swayed from the force of it.  _God, he trusts me so much—_

Bog took a slight step back to look at her, brow furrowing at her sudden silence and stillness, blue eyes carrying a gleam of worry. “Tough Girl—?”

Fingers curled at his collar and yanked him down to her, sweet, dark lips crushing his as Marianne kissed him as she had never kissed him before, deep and devouring, hard and hot and hungry and sweet, so sweet.  _Me, just with me, he could have shared it with **anyone**  and he wanted it to be  **me**_ —

Any surprise quickly faded as Bog met her ravenous want with his own, groaning thick and ragged and almost helplessly as he kissed her back, open mouthed and rough. It was so dizzyingly delicious that even in her haze of lust Marianne experienced a swift sense of gratitude that he was so damn  _strong_ , so easy to hold onto as her knees went weak from want—

Fingers, long and strong, tangled in her hair and tilted her head back so that he could kiss her more deeply, taste and tease and torture her to an even more soul-shuddering degree of bliss. The kisses and caresses Bog lavished on her were rough with want, the same that fueled his touch. Gnarled knuckles caught at beaded lace and fingers dragged across her skin with such desperate desire Marianne was positive she would have bruises, and crooked teeth tugged at her lip as his tongue stroked at hers in both a demand and a plea. 

Marianne gave as good as she got, but  _damn_  it,  _this_  is what she fucking meant about their height difference being such a pain in the ass. Not for the first time in their relationship, Marianne flashed back to that one archive room. God, what she would  _give_ for a cabinet to sit on right now—

Bog moved from her mouth to her neck, teeth and tongue catching it in a love bite that sent Marianne’s head sinking back in a swoon. She panted hard and helpless as she wrapped her arms more thoroughly around him to keep herself from falling, her eyes blinking dazedly up at the stars framed by the skylight, the beam of moonlight shafting through it cutting across the columns of the room—

_The columns._

Oh, she could  _so_ fucking work with that.  

Moving her hands to clutch at the back of his neck, Marianne righted herself and pulled Bog back into a kiss, tugging at his lower lip with her teeth and palming his upper jaw to press her thumb  _just so_ , opening his mouth further. Marianne ruthlessly deepened the kiss, pressing her body to his as she sucked on his tongue, and the noise Bog made had to be the sexiest fucking thing she’d ever heard, some glorious cross between a whine and a moan and a growl.  _Holy fucking hell, this man’s voice—_

She could feel him getting hard, which was honestly  _such_  a fucking blessing considering that her underwear was getting positively _ruined_  right now. Marianne let herself be evil and gave a slow, wicked wriggle, and Bog’s hips jolted against hers, the rigid heat of his length grinding _just_  right. He groaned, deep and rough, and Marianne’s eyes rolled up into her head as her clit practically stamped its metaphorical feet in frustrated want.  _More more more, now now now, stop fucking fooling around so you can **actually fucking fool around—!**_

Marianne had to grit her teeth in order to concentrate but managed to take a step back, her hand curling at Bog’s collar to pull him after her. Bog, thank God, readily followed, his eyes dark and glazed, his mouth bitten red and swollen. Marianne captured it once more, praying that neither her nerves nor her heels would betray her as she continued to walk them backwards, her heart thudding and her hands busy with groping him unabashedly. Her train tangled with her heels, but Marianne kept on kissing Bog. Hell, if they  _did_ end up falling, they could always take advantage of the floor—

Her back slammed against the column she had been aiming for, making her gasp and Bog pull back, his concern evident and all the more touching considering what the state they were both in.  _“Hell, Marianne, are ye alrigh’—?”_

“Less talking,” Marianne commended, yanking him back to her. “More making out.”  

Bog gave a huff of laughter but nonetheless obeyed, deepening their kiss as one large hand spanned her waist, the other cupping the curve of her head to cradle her close as his lips and teeth and tongue lit a fire in Marianne the likes of which she had never known. God, it was  _incredible_ , simultaneously melting her with want and striking a flint to ignite and intensify her need for him, for more,  _everything, I want **everything**  with him_—

But first, the difference in height needed to be addressed.  _C’mon, Tough Girl._

Marianne desperately hooked her leg up around Bog’s hips as high as she could, and gave of moan of relief and wanton rapture when his hand left her waist to grasp at her thigh, anchoring her there. Marianne shivered as Bog stroked the silky smooth skin bared what with how her dress was riding up scandalously, the gently rough brush of his fingertips sending fiery sparks through her, his kisses deep and hungry and hot. Holy  _fuck_ , they probably looked like something off of a Harlequin cover—

Bog tilted his head, and the sudden change of angle had Marianne clutching at him, but it was the unabashed squeeze of his hand on her ass that sent a sweet shock rolling through her. Marianne’s gasp slid smoothly into a purr of a moan, rolling her hips in encouragement as he caressed her supple curves, fingers getting harder and hungrier and closer,  _closer_ ,  ** _closer_**  to where she was positively  _smoldering_. Her voice was a desperate command, an implacable plea.  _“Oh God, Bog, **fuck**  me—”_

Bog growled and caught her mouth once more in a ferocious kiss. Marianne repaid like with like, clutching at his broad shoulders as she pulled herself up to wrap both legs around him, her core a throbbing, melting mess of desire, her skirt tangling and bunching between them as her hips rocked at his all the more insistently. 

Bog tore his mouth away from hers to curse, his voice beautifully thick as his jacket strained with his heaving breathes. “Goddammit, Tough Girl, ye’re gonna bludy  _murder_  me—”

“Regicide,” Marianne managed to get out, her voice a ragged purr as her fingers fumbled in hungry haste, tearing at the buttons of his tux’s jacket and yanking it down his arms, “is _so_  not the act I was planning on right now.”

She clutched at the pillar as Bog leaned back a bit to shrug it off, unconcernedly letting it drop to the floor as his eyes burned at her. “An’ what  _were_  ye plannin’ on?” 

She smirked at him, hoping her eyes were full of the same fire pulsing through her now. “Something that puts this moonlight to good use,  _Your Majesty.”_

Bog’s smile was a slow and sinful thing, and Marianne savored the sight he made just then – crisp white dress shirt in stark contrast to his mussed hair, the almost savage smolder of his eyes burning up at her from beneath his heavy brow– and she had a brief moment of reflection over how wretchedly and wonderfully  _unfair_  it was that a simple smile from him could make her so achingly  _happy_ , so utterly  _lost_  to her sheer love for him. 

And  _so_  wet with want it was  _completely fucking ridiculous_ —

One hand went back to her hip while the other palmed her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip, the rough calluses dragging so sweet against it. Marianne shivered at both the gesture and the memory it recalled, and the look in Bog’s eyes told her he damn well remembered it too before he even spoke.  _“This is trouble, Tough Girl.”_

_And I want that, want that with you, **only**  you— _

Marianne grinned at him, and this time her answer wasn’t an aching whisper where want and regret wove together as one, but a promise, happiness and hunger curving her mouth in a smile both tender and triumphant. “You have  _no_  idea.” 

Bog’s smile become a grin, sharp-edged with delight and desire, and Marianne readily met him as he bent his head to her, both of them sinking back into their kiss. God, it was  _so_  easy, so easy to surrender to passion with him, so easy to  _trust_ him—

 Bog’s hand slid away from her cheek to trace down the smooth, sloping line of her neck, fingers passing over her necklace till he reached the soft swell of her breasts. Marianne’s head lolled dazedly in the wash of rapture that flooded through her as Bog kneaded her right one, his palm easily covering her. She could feel herself pebbling at the friction of the fabric and the drag of his hand, heavy with hunger, torn between sweet surrender and desperately wishing she was experiencing his skin against hers. 

The wish intensified as he let his fingers toy and trace the pattern of the stitched beads before rubbing his thumb across her nipple, making it peak in pleasure. Marianne sucked in a hard breath.  _God_ , if the calluses on his thumb felt good brushing along her lips, then the thought of them on her—

Bog gave another dragging, delicious caress, and Marianne swore, arching desperately into his hand. Yeah, skin-on-skin had to happen  _now_. 

She tore at his shirt, her fingers fierce and frantic, struggling between the choice of going after his bowtie or those annoying buttons. Thankfully, Bog quickly picked up on what she was after and mercifully decided to help out, managing to hold her up even as he tore at his collar and buttons while still kissing her into blissful oblivion. Marianne was tempted to applaud such a feat but settled for giving a sucking kiss to his now bared throat, his pulse jumping under the touch of her tongue. 

Bog gave a shudder of a groan, and she smirked before sliding her hand down his front in a hard and hungry trail, letting her fingers curl and stroke at the hot, hard and undeniable evidence of his desire.  _Hel- **lo** , Your Majesty._Holy hell, Roland really had  _nothing_  on him in  _any_  regard—

The whine Bog gave was utterly hilarious, and Marianne shook with both suppressed laughter and want, muffling both by deepening their kiss to new depths. 

Bog, valiantly trying to recover from such flagrant teasing, finally got his shirt unbuttoned and broke their kiss to shuck it off, leveling a rather desperate glare at her. “Ah’m not gonna last for long if ye keep tha’ up, Tough Girl—”

“Feels like it’s staying  _up_  all on its own,” Marianne retorted flippantly, her eyes blatantly drinking in how his undershirt molded to his lean torso and broad chest so lovingly. 

Bog’s eyes narrowed even further, but his mouth – and something else – twitched. “Marianne—”

“Think of this…” Marianne said, her voice the most sultry kind of thoughtful, “…as revenge.” 

_“Revenge?”_

“For one fateful, moonlit night by the lake,” Marianne explained airily, rolling her hips in a sweet reminder that sent a jolt of pleasure through the both of them. Bog groaned deep in his throat, and Marianne’s voice was considerably more breathless when she continued. “I honestly don’t think I’m ever gonna be able to look at your bike and _not_  get all hot and flustered, you jerk—”

“So revenge is th’ act ye were plannin’ on, is it?” Bog ground out, his teeth clenching into his words as Marianne gave another grind she was certain toed the fine line both between incredible and torturous for him. 

“Amongst other things,” Marianne purred, her smirk and eyes both impish. “Guess it  _can_  be sweet.” 

“Then let me make it up ta ye,” Bog rasped before going to his knees, his hands already tangling themselves in her skirts as he rucked them up and  _oh_ , the air felt so nice and  _cool_  after how hot he had made her. He paused and gave a low chuckle, dark and rich. “Come ta think o’ it, this dress will be a hell o’ a lot easier ta manage than those trousers o’ yers.” His grin was beautifully wicked.  “Remind me ta thank Mother for finding it.”

Marianne eagerly pulled the rest of her dress out of the way, bunching it up around her waist and baring her entire lower body to cool moonlight and his eyes. “I really doubt that Griselda was thinking about  _that_  when she picked this out—”

 _“Of bludy course she’s wearing stockings,”_  Bog choked out, his expression almost wretched with lust as he drank in the sight of the sheer, silky darkness clinging close to her long legs. His hungry, almost worshipful gaze reached her garters, and he gave a rasp of an exhale, the mere sight of them apparently too much. “Ye  _sure_  ye’re not settin’ out to murder me, Tough Girl?”  

Marianne blushed but laughed, amber eyes bright and her voice a teasing drawl. “If I was, I would have worn those boots you like instead of these heels.” 

And wouldn’t have  _that_  made a sight, boots and stockings and garters—

Now it was Bog’s turn to blush.  _“Ah._  Ye…so ye  _did_  notice tha’.” 

“It was adorable,” Marianne said sincerely, smile broad but sweet. “I  _love_ knowing I do that to you.” And hey, if she had a skill at making his sex fantasies come true, Marianne always  _was_  looking for a new hobby to master—

Bog shook his head, his laugh both bashful and wry. “Ye’re a woman who makes a man’s mind go ta th’ gutter all too easily, Tough Girl.” 

“As long as that man is  _you_ …” Marianne murmured, her expression soft with undeniable tenderness. 

Bog’s answering smile was so full of fierce adoration that Marianne had to shiver, and she quickly and shamelessly hooked a leg over one of his shoulders, her heel dangling from her toe before falling with a  _clatter_. Bog just as shamelessly began to lavish the limb with attention, his nails scraping across sheer fabric as his fingers caressed her smooth lines, warm curves filling his palms as he stroked her. He unclasped the garter with a something quite close to a growl and slowly,  _slowly_ started to pull the stocking down, inch by torturous inch, his lips and teeth and tongue following the trail. 

Marianne hummed in pleasure, her body sinking back against the column, her head tilting back and her eyes fluttering closed. God, he made her so  _ready_ , so ready to trust him, so ready to brave dancing and photographers and romance-obsessed mothers, so ready to grab these shadowed moments with rapturous abandon, just like last time—

_Just like last time._

Marianne blinked, pausing in her surrender as she furrowed her brow slightly. Was…was that what she really wanted? 

Okay, yes and no – she would always want Bog, always, but…

She wanted  _all_  of him. 

 _I want more_. 

Realization sank through her like a stone falling into a stream, and Marianne clutched her column.  _Oh…_

Even the bite Bog gave her inner thigh wasn’t enough to shock her out of her state, though the soft, rasping lave of his tongue had her shivering.  _Oh God, I want—_

Her voice was faint. “Bog—”

Bog groaned low in his throat, the soft heat of his voice brushing over her like moth wings spun from fire, kissing her hipbone, palming her ass, nuzzling at her damp crotch to breathe her in.  _“Marianne—”_

“Bog,  _wait.”_

Bog stood up and away so quickly he nearly took her down. Marianne yelped as her leg fell gracelessly from his shoulder, quickly clutching her column as she stumbled.  _“Bog, Jesus—!”_

Bog’s eyes still smoldered, but his expression was serious, so concerned it verged on grim. “What is it?” 

“You almost knocked me over!” 

He shook his head, the line of his mouth going grimmer still. “Not that, what you – you said _wait_.” His eyes were bright and blue with a terrible sort of vulnerability. “Do…do you want to stop?”

 _“No!”_  Marianne gasped, horrified. Shit, of  _course_  he would assume—

She hurried on, and desperation for him to understand and the desire still lancing through her like lightning made her words tumble out of her, earnest and rushed. “No, Bog, I  _want_  this, I do, but – I just – I want  _more_.” Saying it out loud brought the reality of it all home, and Marianne had to fight to keep herself from quaking, emotion and want building inside her. “I want more.  _Everything_. With you. Here.  _Now.”_

Vulnerability had fled from Bog’s face, but bewilderment creased his brow, and his throat worked with a slow, uncertain swallow. “Ah…Ah don’—”

 _“Fuck me.”_  Marianne licked her lips, her breath hot and heaving, her words desperate and true. “Bog, baby,  _please_ ,  ** _fuck me.”_**

Bog stared at her, his beautiful eyes the widest Marianne had ever seen them, and somewhere in the back of her mind Marianne realized that this was what  _gob-smacked_  probably looked like.  His mouth worked soundlessly, and when he spoke, the single word was a gasp.  _“What?”_

 _“I love you,”_  Marianne said, voice still ragged, words still messy with heart-felt emotion. “Bog, I love you  _so_  much and I – I just –  _this room!”_  She gestured, wild and helpless. “You shared this room, it’s  _yours_ , it’s  _you_ , and you share it with  _me_  and—”

She tried to collect herself, calm herself, not scare him off with her desperate sincerity. “ _You shared this with me. Trusted me._  And…God, I wanna share  _everything_ with you, everything I can get with you.” She melted, going to him to stroke fingers through his ashy black hair, moonlight catching on the few silvery strands so beautifully.  _“All_ of you. I love you, Bog. I’m ready, I want this.”  _I want you._    

He still gaped at her, and Marianne bit her lower lip, sucking on it anxiously. “I just – I mean, if you—”

 ** _“This!”_**  Bog burst out, pointing one long finger at her, making her jump.  _“This is wha’ Ah bludy well mean by blunt!_ An’ then ye—” He turned away, raking a hand through his hair with a helpless groan that was close to a snarl, “then ye bludy think tha’ Ah might  _no’_  want ta—”

Marianne narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms with a scowl. Of  _course_ he’d have her going from desperately turned on to irritation. “Well,  _would you?”_  she snapped. 

Just like that, any annoyance or shock disappeared from Bog’s face, leaving only an apprehensive concern. Marianne felt her own exasperation melt away, and a twist of anxiety went through her heart with a heavy thud. Oh God,  _would_ he? 

_Too much, too different—_

Bog sighed, stepping back to her, the lean, wiry muscles of his arms scored by moonlight. “Marianne…” 

He reached for her hand, and Marianne readily took them in hers, fingers warm and strong and twining tight. Bog looked down at the sight, fingers entwined and brushed with moonlight before exhaling, slow and deep and almost shuddery. “Ah…Ah don’ want ye t’feel like ye…like ye  _have_  ta—” 

“I want to,” Marianne retorted, her words as warm and firm as the press of her palm against his. God, the fact he was worried she felt  _obliged_ — “Bog, I swear to you, it’s not about – about  _owing_  you, or any kind of that bullshit. I just…” 

She sighed, long and hard and heartfelt, and freed her hands so she could cradle his face, his stubble rasping upon her skin as she met his gaze, eyes golden-bright as she tried not to tremble under how her heart raced.  _“I’m ready._  And for the longest time, after Roland, after  _everything_ , I…” she paused, inhaling. “…I couldn’t let myself think…let myself  _hope_ that I  _would_ ever be ready to have that again.” 

_Have hope, have trust, have sex, have love—_

“And…” she blinked, trying to keep the burn behind her eyes, and shrugged as nonchalantly as she could to distract from how her voice was catching, emotion making her throat tight. “And then  _you_  happened.” She smiled, a soft, quick breath of a laugh escaping her as she looked around the room. “And so did  _this_ …” 

Her gaze and her voice were somewhere between vulnerable and brave as she looked back up at him, unquestionably clear and undeniably certain. “And now things are  _different_ , and I’m so glad they are.  _I’m ready, Bog.”_  She stopped, her hands dropping back down to his as she took a shaky breath. “But this isn’t just about me. If you aren’t – if you don’t—”

“ _Ah do_ ,” Bog countered softly, hands tightening at hers. “ _Ah am.”_  He paused as well, flushing as he took a breath of his own, stepping back a bit. “Ah just – Ah just don’ want ye ta be—” 

His blush deepened, burning across sharp cheeks, and his eyes dropped down. “Marianne, it’s been a  _very_  long time—”

“That only means we get to make up for a lot of lost time, Your Majesty,” Marianne countered, her voice gentle even as her lips gave a slight twitch. 

Bog’s mouth betrayed the same twitch before he looked at her, straight on and serious. The blue of his eyes were bright with moonlight as long, strong fingers carded through her hair, and as he came closer, the air between them got warm, charged. “If…if tha’ –  _this_ – is wha’ ye truly want—”

“I will  _always_  want you.” Marianne reached up a hand to clasp at his, her voice both strong and soft with fathomless, unquestionable love.  _“I love you, Bog.”_

Any remaining hesitation, any wavering doubt still holding him prisoner, vanished from Bog at those words. The next thing Marianne knew, she was being crushed to him in an embrace, his arms a vise of passion as he kissed her. No,  _kissing_  wasn’t nearly enough to capture what was taking place. He  _ravished_  her,  _devoured_  her, brought her to the very brink of bliss with just his lips and teeth and tongue and  _sweet Jesus, **how** the every loving fuck is this possible, how in holy hell is he so **good**  at this? _

Marianne tried her damndest to return each hard and hungry caress with equal ardor, echo each heated and heartfelt moan he gave, let her own hands hook into him as his fingers drew fiercely across her skin, twisting into her hair, holding her tight. It was a surrender and a promise and a tease all at once, and Marianne could only give what Bog so generously gave her, ferocious and fervent as she clutched his shoulders, hiking her leg up around his hip. 

Bog promptly helped, palming her ass with one hand as he grabbed her close with the other, long fingers spanning across her spine so she could easily wrap her legs around him. Marianne’s smile was equal parts sweet and savage as she obliged him, making sure to roll her hips with victorious viciousness once she was settled. Bog swore, and Marianne eagerly caught the curse on her lips, their kiss as fierce and filthy as she could manage.  

Bog whined before breaking away, panting hard, eyes glazed and dark.  _“Where d’ye—”_  he gulped down a breath, looking past her, “The pillars, would tha’ be—?” 

Marianne smiled, her lips beginning to positively  _throb_ , stung by his passion. “ _Super_  tempting, buuuuut…” 

She licked a long, hot path up his neck, the bump of his adam’s apple bobbing under her tongue with his swallow before she reached his ear, and her words were a purr of heat, sending cool air shivering over the damp mark of her claim. “I was expecting… _more.”_

She bit his earlobe, punctuating the statement, drawing the soft flesh between her teeth. Bog groaned, weaving slightly on his feet, and Marianne clung to him, tucking her face in the crook of his neck to hide her snigger. Yeah, getting screwed up against a column  _would_  be fucking hot, but if she was already making his knees this weak—

Amber eyes glanced about the room, brightening as they fell upon an incredibly welcome sight.  _I **knew**  I was_  _gonna need to lie down on you_. 

Heart fluttering in excitement, Marianne pulled back to fix Bog with the sultriest smolder she could manage, praying her lips wouldn’t twitch in laughter. “Y’know…we both wanted to put this moonlight to good use…” she murmured, looking up at him through the dark fan of her lashes before nodding her head. “And I think the moonlight  _there_  is perfect right now.” 

Bog looked over his shoulder, following her gaze, and grinned with slow, delicious sharpness as he took in the chaise-lounge, stretching comfortably and spilling over with silvery moonlight, practically beckoning them.  _“Ah think ye’re right, Tough Girl.”_

The journey to it proved more difficult than anticipated, any progress significantly hampered by how each of them were trying to undress the other as much as they could while still kissing. Bog fumbled in his search for the zipper of Marianne’s dress while she tried to tug his undershirt up and away from him, and after several staggering missteps and frustrated attempts, Marianne broke away with a groan. “’Kay, one of us needs to wait—”

 _“Says ye,”_  Bog muttered, teeth drawing across her throat as he kissed her, finger tugging the strap of her dress aside for more skin for him to savor. He turned his attention to her clavicles, voice muffled.  _“Ah like a challenge.”_

Marianne huffed out a laugh, squirming as he began to suck and kiss and nip and lick his way along the smooth line. “I’ll  _give_  you a challenge, Your Majesty, just let me be naked for it.” 

Bog laughed, and Marianne managed to sneak in a swift peck while it lingered on his lips before leaning away a bit, her fingers flying to the side of her dress, where her zipper was artfully concealed. Bog groaned as he heard it go down, somewhere between eager and annoyed. “ _Tha’s_  where the bludy thing was. Why th’ hell would they have tha’  _there_ —?”  

“’Cause fashion is the newest way to test chivalry,” Marianne explained, sighing with relief as the bodice of the dress parted like a blooming bud, cool air washing over her skin.  _God, that feels good_. 

Bog gave a bark of incredulous laughter.  _“What?!”_

“’Cause by making itself totally ridiculous and hard to remove,” Marianne explained, shrugging her other strap away, “you’re able to see if a guy is willing to wait.” 

Bog shook his head, amused and bewildered. “Tha’ makes no bludy sense.” 

“Fashion never does.” Marianne’s smile was a bit shy as she took a breath and rolled her shoulders, both straps falling like petals from a flower, the front of the dress dropping away to expose her entirely.  _Oh God—_

Bog blinked before his eyes went wide, his breath shuddering out of him.  _“Marianne…”_

“The back of the dress was too low cut to wear a bra,” Marianne explained, deliberately continuing to stroke her hands up and down his arms to keep them from self-consciously covering herself.  Her nails scratched softly over the bumps of his biceps, and she bit her lip. “And, y’know, advantage of having practically no breasts, you can do without that stuff—”

_Oh God, oh God, **please**  don’t let him be disappointed like—_

_“Awwww, Buttercup, you’re the sweetest little thing even if there ain’t nothin’ much there—”_

The echo burned across Marianne with humiliating heat, and she hunched a bit, her hands leaving Bog’s arms to flutter to her chest like a pair of shy butterflies. 

But a hand snapped out, and Bog’s grip was gentle yet unyielding as he kept her from covering herself, his eyes still drinking in the sight of the moonlight tracing the soft slope of her breasts, the shadows that clung to the gentle curves. 

Marianne resisted the urge to wriggle, squirm. She wasn’t uncomfortable, not  _really_ , but – she had never been so…so  _soft_ , so exposed, not for the longest time. “Bog…? I…I know they’re—”

 _“Beautiful,”_  Bog breathed, gently dropping her hands so he could cup one soft mound, the plush weight of it filling his palm perfectly. Marianne had the oddest thought of how it was vaguely Cinderella-esque –  _the perfect fit_  – before sucking in a ragged breath as Bog –  _oh God oh God oh yes yes **yes**_  – softly swept his thumb over her nipple, making it harden even more, a tight little bud of sensitivity against his rough calluses. Marianne bit down on a whimper, yet a soft noise escaped. 

Bog looked back up at her, eyes bright and blue and burning with heartfelt honesty, adoring awe.  _“Ye’re so bludy **beautiful** , Tough Girl.”  _

It would be totally inappropriate to cry. 

Eyes burning and heart twisting with sheer love, Marianne settled for passionately pulling him back to her, noses bumping and teeth clicking as their mouths slammed together. Bog gave a groan that wasn’t quite due to ardor, and Marianne winced, pulling back hastily.  _“Shit, I’m sorry—”_

 _“Don’t be,”_  Bog growled, taking advantage of her distance to claw the rest of her dress further down. “Ye’re not gonna hear  _me_ complainin’ ‘bout gettin’ injuries from this—” 

“Duly noted,” Marianne snorted, a smile twisting her lips as she took a page from his book and pawed at his undershirt. Bog lifted his arms and with hurried hungriness she pulled it off of him, letting out a moan of pure appreciation as she took him in, all broad shoulders and lean muscles. Fuck  _creepy skeletal butler_ , he was so damn—

She wrapped her arms around him, and now it was Bog’s turn to moan, the softness of her breasts against his chest a feeling he had obviously been unprepared for. Marianne nuzzled him as her fingers trailed over his back, stroking along his shoulders and down through the dark dusting of chest hair, which she couldn’t resist petting just a bit.  _Yum._

Her nails scratched over his skin, and Bog made a noise deep in his throat at that, brow furrowing and eyes closing. Marianne rocked against him once more, biting her lip at the delicious friction of their bodies, the slide of their skin awakening nerves too long neglected. Her sigh shuddered out from her as her core throbbed with an almost plaintive ache.  _Please—_

Bog captured her mouth in a kiss, sweet and searing, and Marianne barely noticed as they stumbled over to the chaise-lounge, only having enough wits about her to kick off her other heel so it could join the rest of the clothes debauchedly littering the floor.  _Talk about something out of a Harlequin novel—_

There was a soft jolt, and then Marianne found herself falling upon the chaise-lounge with a muffled  _flump_ , the dark green velvet plush and soft as moss beneath her skin. She quickly scooched back, taking advantage of as much space as she could to recline in eager invitation, her eyes half-lidded and hungry. Bog readily followed, blue eyes burning with a smolder that had Marianne biting back a squeal and wrapping a leg around his hip, pulling him to her desperately. 

One hand braced him over her while the other stroked along her slender waist, spanning the flat, hard muscle of her torso till he reached soft plushness, caressing the sensitive skin of her breasts, lush and velvety as petals. The burning ache in her groin shuddered in something close to misery at such tender, teasing contact, and Marianne’s voice shook as well as she clutched him closer, held him tight. “ _Bog, please_ —”

Bog bit her neck, and Marianne tilted her head back both in a moan and in encouragement, shuddering with pleasure as he dragged the skirt of her dress up and out of the way to roll his hips against hers. Hard heat met throbbing dampness, her underwear and his trousers the only barrier between them, and Marianne’s gasp echoed off the walls and through the darkness, mixing with the music still coming from the jukebox, something about  _“moonlight becomes you, it goes with your hair…”_

Marianne paid it no mind, moaning out her want in her own unabashedly wanton song. “ ** _Unf_** _._   _Ohhh, baby, yesssss—”_

Bog left covering her neck and collar with sucking, searing kisses to bite at her ear with a growl, and Marianne arched into him with a cry. His hips were almost harsh in how they  _ground_  against hers, but the roughness only stoked her fire further. His tongue, rough and wet, traced the curve of her ear, and Marianne gasped raggedly as he gave it another bite, teeth dragging over the sensitive flesh, his brogue breathy and deliciously dark.  _“C’mon, Tough Girl…”_

A hand left her breast to reach between them, and Marianne felt a sharp, sweet thrill shoot through her as she felt him fumble with his fly.  _It’s happening, it’s actually happening—_

Suddenly Bog froze, his very breath halting as he paused above her. 

Then he gave a curse and punched the chaise lounge, his voice low and thick with self-loathing.  ** _“God fucking dammit.”_**

Marianne squirmed back, eyes wide and shocked and bewildered.  _“Bog, what—?”_

 _“Ah’m such a fucking fool,”_  Bog groaned, sitting up and running a hand harshly through his hair. “Marianne, Ah – we  _can’t_ , not now a’ least, Ah don’ have—”

His cheeks flushed but he continued on, voice thick with regret. “Ah don’t have any bludy protection, an’ we can’ run th’ risk o’ gettin’ ye—” 

 _“Bog,”_  Marianne interrupted firmly, sitting up as well to place her fingers on his lips.  _“It’s okay._  I’m on the pill.” 

Any other protests that might have been said died on Bog’s lips at that, leaving him to gape at her.  _“What?!”_

Marianne shrugged, her necklace sparkling with a chill splendor with the motion. “I…I figured it was a case of better safe than sorry.” Not to mention Griselda had made sure to take her aside for “ _just a_   _little girl talk”_  about the particular importance of taking extra care in that regard. Getting pregnant out of wedlock was one thing, getting pregnant out of wedlock by a King was—

Marianne’s cheeks had burned with a blush throughout the whole thing, but she had nonetheless appreciated Griselda’s counsel, even if she  _could_  take care of herself. It was one thing to know she was going to be Queen, she didn’t need to worry about having a—

Marianne’s train of thought crashed.  _It was one thing to know she was going to be Queen?!_

She gave a stunned blink, her heart thudding hard.  _What the fuck—?_

Bog was still watching at her with wide eyes, and Marianne quickly marshaled her wits. “So,  _uh_ , yeah, no worries there.” She lifted her shoulder in a shrug, giving him the coyest look she could, even as some unease –  _would he refuse her, insist that they wait ?_ – turned over deep in her gut. “Unless you  _want_  to give the moonlight a break—”

 _“Wha’ Ah want…”_  Bog said in a soft snarl, teeth bared as he came back to her, one hand returning to grasp at her hip while the other teased across the taut plain of her abdomen, stroking up the slender line of her neck to twist hungry fingers in her hair,  _“…is **ye** , Tough Girl.”_

A hot twist of triumph scorched through Marianne, turning any lingering anxieties to ash. She bared her teeth at him in return, laying back against velvety darkness, provocative in her power as well as her pose.  _“Show me.”_

Bog’s chuckle as he readily followed after her was like the shadows surrounding them, warm and dark and all too easy to lose herself to. He moved in almost a prowl, a predatory grace in the smooth flex and pull of his arms, the hard lines of his torso cut into sharp relief by moonlight and shadow. He arched a brow at her, the snarl of want replaced by a teasing smirk. “Tha’ a command, Tough Girl?”  

 _Only a_   _Queen can command—_

Marianne ignored the flutter that stray thought sent through her and instead savored the sight Bog made, caging her with his arms like there was any chance of her wanting to leave, hair mussed and half dressed. A sweet ache went through her as she met – _drowned in_ – his eyes, shadowed but warm with affectionate amusement, the blue impossibly clear with love. “You tell  _me_ , Your Majesty.” 

His smirk stretched, slow and sweetly wicked. “Regardless…” he drawled, sinking back down to her as his hand drifted back to her thighs, nails scratching slightly at the unfastened stocking. His voice curled around her like warm, rough cashmere as he lifted her leg up, drawing it back around him,“…Ah’ll obey.” 

A laugh burbled up in the midst of her want, and Marianne’s smile made her face ache almost as sweetly as her heart.  _“You’re **such**  a freaking dork.”_

 _“Ye like it,”_  Bog murmured back, his smirk softening into a smile before stroking purposeful fingers at the increasingly damp patch on her panties, fingertips curling at her core in a slow and wicked rub. 

Marianne’s gasped heaved out of her, pleasure coiling through her body in a spiral that had her arching, thrusting herself with needy demand into the soft, rough heat of his palm. “To be f-fair,” she managed to get out raggedly, “I like a  _lot_  of th-things about y-you.”  _Especially what you do to me._

Bog’s eyes dropped at that, his exhale a soft laugh, the sound warm and bashful even as he continued to touch her so. “Ye’ve some strange tastes, Tough Girl.” 

“Says the man who loves Elvis.” Any fire to her retort was a lost cause what with all her heat being spent on the pleasure washing through her in shimmering, simmering waves. Marianne had to wonder at it, at him, the fact that he could  _still_  be any kind of bashful after everything, still have no idea just  _what_  he did to her, how he made her as happy as—

Her breath caught in her throat.  _As happy as I make him._

Oh God,  _oh holy fucking God_ , she honestly  _did_ , didn’t she? 

 _“Wha’ is it?”_  Bog’s fingers stilled in slipping under the waistband of her panties, his thumb stopping as it smoothed along the jut of her hipbone. The familiar and ever ready gleam of concern started to come back into his gaze, and his voice was somewhere between a murmur and a rasp. “Wha’ are ye thinkin’ about?” 

“How happy you make me.” Hell, if he truly had no idea, might as well tell him. Besides, he  _liked_  it when she was blunt. 

Yet her eyes were nothing but tender as she looked at him, and the truth was soft upon her lips as she gave it to him freely, trustingly.  _“You make me **so** fucking happy, Bog.” _

And it should have terrified her,  _it should have_ , because  _happiness_  and  _home_ and  _belonging_  and _love_  just didn’t happen for Marianne Dale, not for the longest time. And yet here she was, vulnerable and exposed in more ways then one, but with adventure thrilling through her instead of terror, supine and sensual beneath him and unquestionable in her security. She  _wanted_ this, wanted  _him, I want **everything**  with him_—

The smile that broke over Bog’s face sent another fierce ache through her, it was so unabashedly  _beautiful_. “Ye’re somethin’ else, ye know tha’?” 

“I’ve been told,” Marianne admitted impishly. 

 _“Tha’s wha’ Ah like,”_  Bog murmured, brushing his lips across hers, and Marianne shivered, wanting to dart her tongue out, taste him. “Ah like a lot o’ things about ye too.” 

Marianne narrowed her eyes at him, gold slitted and smoldering.  _“Oh yeah?”_

_“Aye.”_

Her hand curled at the nape of his neck, and Marianne gave her lower lip a slow, dragging pass of her tongue, teasing and torturous as she could make it.  _“Then c’mon, Your Majesty…”_   

Bog’s expression was the beautiful mix of love and wickedness she had ever seen as he sank into the softness her body held and caught her mouth in a kiss, sweet and almost smoky with the growl he gave. Marianne’s resulting moan was almost giggly – for a King in charge of a country, Bog was weirdly, wonderfully _feral_  at times, a fact that Marianne never failed to appreciate or be amused by but flat-out fucking adored in moments like this as they lost themselves to each other. Lust and love wove together as one, thickening the air till it positively  _pulsed_ , their want was a fierce force of nature, a wild thing—

The hard heat of his cock hit her  _just so_ , and Marianne’s eyes rolled back in her head, shadows and moonlight disappearing in a smear of white-hot want as she gave a throaty, helpless pant.  _Rhapsodize later, ravish **now**._

She locked her legs around him, barely a scant inch between them, though apparently there was enough room for Bog to get a hand between them, pull aside her panties and—

Enthusiasm and encouragement made Marianne’s moan crescendo into a cry as Bog’s index and middle finger curled at her clit, and  _shit_ , what with the jukebox still playing and the racket  _she_  was making, it was only a matter of moments till now some innocent bystander decided to investigate. 

Bog’s rumbling groan was hot between their mouths, and he pulled away to mouth at her breasts, the press of his lips searing into her skin. Marianne’s panted words were only barely coherent as his tongue laved over the tight bud of her nipple.  _“The door—?”_   

 _“Ah locked it, remember?”_ Marianne’s moan melted out of her at the frankly  _gorgeous_  contrasting sensation of rasping stubble and soft lips on her stimulated flesh. She felt him grin against her, and shivered at the slight graze of his teeth.  _“An’ Ah got th’ only key.”_

 “A King with the keys to the kingdom…” Marianne giggled, and  _fuck_ , it felt so  _good_  to be goofy around him, so weirdly wonderful to know that it wasn’t something he merely tolerated but actually  _adored_ , tenderness and toughness both beloved by him.  _He loves me, loves **all**  of me—_

Bog hummed in agreement, the noise thrumming over her skin deliciously as he continued to press kisses to her chest, the hot, rasping heat of his stubble and mouth making her shiver and sigh. The long, hot lick he tongue gave to the slender line of her neck would have been languid if it had not been for how his hips nudging at hers, and while she was pretty certain he wasn’t even aware of doing it, Marianne shamelessly clutched him close, the demand of her desire sending her stocking sliding down to her knee. Bog brushed a hand along the smooth lines of her leg, bunching it further, and pulled back confusedly before he saw what it was _. “Ah._  Forgot ‘bout tha’—”

“Then you better take care of it,” Marianne teased, wriggling her foot a bit. 

Bog chuckled and seized her slender ankle, quickly peeling the garment away, and Marianne shivered in both anticipation and how the cool air chased over her skin. He went to make similar work of the other before pausing, tilting his head as he considered the garment, a twist coming to his lips.

She  _knew_  that look,  _knew_  what that head tilt heralded, Marianne’s voice was breathless, heady and hot in anticipation. “What are  _you_  thinking about?” 

If the way he had tilted his head had spelled  _trouble_ , then the look he aimed at her promised all kinds of filthy, wonderful things straight from one of  _her_ sexual fantasies. Frankly, the purr he used to answer didn’t help at  _all_. “Tha’ Ah’ve spent many a day thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ like  _this.”_  Fingers drummed against silky sheer darkness before unhooking her garter. “Many a night too. Ah think it’s high time tha’ Ah put them ta good use.” 

And then he bent to her, the long stretch of his spine curving down as he—

The sound Marianne made was a cry and a whimper rolled into one heated, heartfelt rush of noise as Bog pulled the stocking down with his teeth, breath rasping hot and moist over already dewy skin, caressing her curls, brushing along her sodden, searing slit,  _not gonna last, I’m not gonna fucking last, sweet holy hell I’m **so**  fucking close and he hasn’t even started to—_

Bog gave the soft flesh of her inner thigh an open-mouthed kiss that was damn near a bite, and Marianne bucked, falling back against soft cushions with a futile  _flump._   _FUCK ME._

The stocking soon slipped to the floor in a silken rumple, and when Bog pulled back to look up at her from beneath heavy brows, his expression held the slyness of a smirk and the pleased warmth of a beam. “Ah take it ye liked tha’—?” 

 _“Get.”_  Marianne snarled, forsaking clutching at cushions to wrangle with her skirts, still bunched messily about her waist,  _“Your. Pants. Off. **Now**.”_

She would have given him a smack for his snort of laughter, but the way he immediately obeyed made up for it, quickly shucking off his shoes and socks before turning to his trousers. Marianne meanwhile busied herself with wriggling out of her panties, inhaling soft and sharp through her teeth as she peeled the flimsy fabric away and cool air curled over her core.  _Ooooh, that feels—_

She arched, stretching out a leg as she relished the sensation, smiling at the look of her leg under the silvery-white stain of the moon and how easily she could stretch out. The chaise-lounge must have been made especially for Bog – either that or all the males in his family had been built with the same long lines. Regardless, she had  _plenty_  of room to roll around.  ** _Good._**

Bog gave a grunt as he knelt above her, brow furrowing in frustration as his fingers fumbled with his fly, clumsy from hunger and haste. Marianne went to give him a hand before belatedly realizing that having her fingers at his crotch  _might_ prove more of a hindrance than a help just then. But Bog merely grit his teeth and finally,  _finally,_  the narrow jut of his hipbones came into view as the trousers slid away, shedding from him as easily as a molt—

Marianne dazedly took him in, broad and bare shoulders rising and falling with his deep breaths, the almost concave leanness of his torso compared to the solid breadth of his upper body, the tease of the dark, sparse trail of hair that invited her eyes to trail lower,  _lower_ —

Her heart so thudding hard in her chest she was certain it was reverberating, Marianne quickly decided that now was  _definitely_  the time to give him a hand –  _as it were_ – and trailed her fingers along the long, supple line of his throat and over the hollow of his collarbone, teasing down the hard leanness of his torso to tug at the waistband of his boxer shorts. She sucked in an inhale as she palmed him through the fabric, and Bog rocked forward at the touch with a moan that was almost guttural, closing his eyes like someone who had just taken a bit of something  _delicious_.

Marianne moaned as well, eyes glazed as she pulled him free, caressing the searing, sensitive skin of his length, so gorgeously hard and yet so  _soft_ , almost velvety,  _mine, oh holy fucking hell, he’s **mine** , he’s all mine—_

Bog whined at the soft swipe of her thumb, and Marianne swiftly lay back against the chaise-lounge, chest heaving and eyes entreating as she wrapped her legs around him, locked her ankles at the small of his back so her toes could brush up his spine, making him twitch and shiver. She  _pulled_  him to her, breath catching even as every inch of skin  _burned_  against his, every fiber of her being twisting in agonized anticipation and crying out for him in a silent wail.  _Now Bog, now baby, now now **now** —_

And Bog, a King always ready to be commanded when it came to her –  _to me, oh my God, **me**  _– sank against her, his hips canting soft and sure, and the noise he made as he slid into the soft, searing clench of her was not a moan or a groan but a smothered sob.  _“Oh God, **Marianne** —”_

He spoke with such ragged reverence Marianne would have been tempted to tease him about blasphemy had she not been  _utterly fucking lost_ , mouth gaping in a gasp, eyes blown wide as she stared up at the stars sparkling silver-bright through the skylight, her mind and soul trying to find some sort of equilibrium. But the feel of Bog, the feel of him  _in_  her, it was – it was so – it felt—

 _It feels,_  Marianne reflected with a dazzled and dizzied sense of detachment, as Bog slid further in with a rasping oath of rapture,  _like coming home._   

A wave of exquisite heat went through her as Bog gave a shallow roll of his hips, and Marianne swore, unable to stop as she dug her nails into his shoulder, a desperate anchor as she arched into him. It had been so long,  _so fucking long_ since she even let herself  _pine_ for this. The scars Roland had left had been too raw for her to even  _think_ of letting someone get that close, even for a brief bit of relief and release. She had never been a One Night Stand kind of girl anyway, long before Roland had made her a Never Fall In Love Again kind of girl. Even when the scars had faded, it had been into something dark and deep and lingering, aching just beneath the surface of her ferocity like a bruise. But now—

Now she knew she  _couldn’t_  have missed this, because she hadn’t  _experienced_ this, not really, certainly not with Roland, no matter how many unfulfilling and frankly  _disappointing_  times she had tried to convince herself otherwise. This was  _different,_  this was—

Marianne’s shudder came from her soul, want and gratitude rippling through her in a rush as she pulled Bog into a hug, held him tight to her heart.  _This is **real**. _

Lost to a wave of love and lust, Marianne could only moan as Bog sank deeper, the plunge pulling pleasure in a hot tug that sent a pulse through every inch of her body, crackling along her nerves with fiery rapture. She cried out, throwing her head back till it crushed against the cushions, the sound tapering off into another moan, the sound of it molten and melting and drawn from where their bodies met, heat and want melding as one. The bliss pooling there was sent into a simmering wave as Marianne responded with a roll of her hips, and the slight twinge her body gave at the sensation after not having  _anything_  for the longest time was easily ignored, Bog’s girth pulling and plucking new notes of pleasure she had never known—

Bog’s snarl was a shredded thing, torn between his teeth before it frayed into a groan, soulful and soft as Marianne stroked her fingers through his hair, mussing it even more.  He opened his eyes to look at her, the blue of them bright with moonlight and such sweetness Marianne felt her very soul quake before he even spoke. 

 _“Ah love ye.”_  His hand carded through her hair messily before curling at her face, palming the line of her jaw. Sincerity practically bled from him as he laid himself bare with his barely coherent confession, his voice shaking just a bit.  _“Ah love ye sae bludy much, Tough Girl.”_

Marianne’s laugh was breathless, her eyes traitorously blurry before she managed to speak, her tone matching Bog’s for soul-shaking sincerity and depthless love.  _“I love you too, Bog.”_  Her smile went wicked, mischief winding with want in an intoxicating coil as she quirked a brow at him. “Now maybe you can answer something for me…” 

Bog playfully arched a brow back at her as his hand went to her waist, his palm warm and heavy upon her skin. “Oh?”

“Yeah…” Marianne suddenly arched her back off of the chaise-lounge, catching Bog off guard. He sank even deeper into her, the last few precious inches between finally them claimed, and now it was  _his_  moan that echoed off the walls. Marianne’s smirk spread into a grin, and she curled a hand at the nape of his neck to tug him down to her, her drawl soft and heated and wicked in his ear. “Is  _this_  trouble?” 

Bog stilled, before pulling back to look at her, and his face was unabashedly and deliciously evil.  _“Ye have nae idea.”_   

And with that his hips snapped against hers,  _hard_. Marianne’s gasp was almost a yelp as she writhed beneath him, heat and want pulsing through her from where their bodies met, a fiery bloom spreading its petals wide as he drew back only to return to her, rocking into her with a smooth forcefulness.

Marianne mewled as Bog repeated the action, his breaths almost snarls as her inner muscles clenched around him with each returning thrust, each desperate, hard roll of his hips.  _Oh, GOD._

Oh sweet fucking Christ, there was no way around it, Bog – the King of Biròg, the  _actual_  fucking King of an  _actual_ fucking country – was  _fucking_ her, fucking her with rough, grinding hips and hungry hands at her wrists, her name falling from his lips in growled, moaned, breathless prayers, punctuated by guttural grunts and groans.  _“Ma-Marianne…”_

Marianne thrashed beneath him, one hot, heaving gasp away from a wail. He was  _fucking_  her,  _and she fucking **loved**  it._

She met each rock and thrust he gave, her body rolling in a sinuous wave with his, taking him as deep as he could go, her own voice breathless with her litany of lust and love.  _Yes Bog, yes baby, just like that, **just like that baby** , oh God yes, feels so good, feels so  **fucking**  good, God Bog, you feel so fucking good in me sweetheart, I  **love**  it, I **love**  you_—

Passion made everything melt and meld together in a rapturous blur, and Marianne wasn’t even  _aware_  that they had rolled over until she suddenly found herself on top of Bog, looking down on him as he splayed across dark, moon dappled velvet, chest rising and falling rapidly with each panting breath he took as he looked up at her, and  _God_ , was there  _any_  end to how  _beautiful_  those eyes got? 

The look he gave her was a smoldering, unspoken plea, hands curling at her waist in helpless hunger, nails scratching soft against her skin. His hips canted up almost shyly, and Marianne could  _feel_  his wordless question as deeply as she felt his delicious, rigid heat moving in her.  _Tough Girl, can ye—?_

 Marianne’s breath whooshed out of her in a hot wave, but her smile was bright and shameless in its delight.  _Oh hell yes, I fucking can_.  

She braced her arms above him, caging him beneath her as she rolled her hips against his, the movement as fierce as the love that swelled within her, cresting with her pleasure. 

Bog moaned like she was killing him in the best way possible, and Marianne felt herself tremble from both the ecstasy rippling hotly beneath her skin and wonder. God, he  _loved_  it, loved having her like this, dominant and demanding in her desire, her love. Roland had  _hated_ it, practically pouting when she had suggested it,  _c’mon Marianne, that ain’t ladylike_ —

Bog  _whimpered_  at the next roll of her hips, and Marianne’s resulting grin wasn’t any kind of ladylike.  _A thousand points to Bog, **Roland beyond fucking nil.**_

But now pleasure was cresting higher and higher within her, a hot wave rushing and rolling and coming closer and closer to crashing as Bog arched into her with a growl, undoubtedly near his own release. Marianne swiftly slipped her hand down to tease along the beautiful arch of his spine. Too many make-outs had taken place between them for her  _not_  to make the delightful discovery of that beautifully strange, exquisitely exploitable erogenous zone—  

Bog tensed, his shiver just shy of a shudder, eyes squeezed tight and teeth bared in a grimace of pleasure, his sharp angles sharper still under moonlight and her touch. A sweet pain lanced through Marianne’s heart at the sight of him, lost to the rapture that was  _her_  doing.  _So damn beautiful_ —

Then Bog opened his eyes to look up at her, moonlight once more catching the blue in a way that made her heart throb and her soul shiver.  _“Marianne—”_

Between his utterly fucked-out expression and the sheer  _love_  illuminating his eyes, Marianne couldn’t even try smother her sob, clasping at him with white knuckles, heart throbbing with the sweetest pain.  _Oh God, I love you so much, Bog._

 Close,  _so close,_  so ready to fall into the chasm of rapturous release only  _he_ could give her—

Bog reached between them, thumbing her clit in a soft, sweet drag, his voice no longer a growled plea but the same ragged and worshipful whisper of last time.  _“Marianne…”_

His touch was a flint, the stroke of his thumb igniting the last few sparks needed. Marianne didn’t fall but  _soar_  as her orgasm crashed over her in a rhapsody of release, bringing her to the highest boundaries of bliss, a perfect peak of pleasure. White-hot ecstasy melted together with moonlight as she threw her head back, cried out with a gasping wail—

And Bog was with her, the force of his orgasm making him arch back off the chaise-lounge with a shuddery roar as he came deep and hard and molten in her, flooding her with liquid, fiery bliss.

Pleasure had pulled her taut and tall, but in the wake of her rapture Marianne could only collapse, falling and curling upon his chest with a shiver, clasping him back herself Bog held her tight, both of their chests heaving, both heartbeats thundering. 

Marianne gave a shaky exhale, closing her eyes to savor the feel of him – the moonlight shimmering and swimming around them was almost too much to hand, a manifestation of their pleasure, bright and beautiful and all theirs, washing through shadows and banishing loneliness and doubt with sweet, silvery certainty.  _I love him. He loves me._   

_We did it. Oh my God, **we actually did it.**   _

Marianne heaved out another sigh and opened her eyes, if only to distract herself from how her heart pounded with that thought. She glanced down, and bit her lip as quickly as she could, but a laugh escaped nonetheless. 

Bog stirred himself out of the post-coital catatonia he had been undoubtedly slipping into to raise a heavy brow at her, his eyes a gorgeous, blissed-out blue. “Wha’ is it?” 

“Just…” Marianne tried to restrain her giggles, running a hand through her now severely mussed hair. “Y’know, I always told myself that even if I had been born a princess, my life wasn’t a romance novel. But here I am—” She waved a hand,  encompassing both of them, his trousers half off and her dress rumpled around her waist, the various articles of clothing strewn about on the floor, “—here  _we_  are, looking like something off of a freaking Harlequin cover.” Marianne shook her head with a soft sigh of a laugh, her afterglow and happiness making the gesture full of gentle mockery, amiable acceptance. “Guess  _that’s_  changed now…” 

Bog’s arm snaked around her, pulling her soft and tight to him. His voice was a rumble of warmth, but a soft, strange sort of vulnerability deepened it. “And…how d’ye feel about that?”  

Marianne lifted her head to look at him, golden eyes gazing into bright blue with loving sincerity. “I think it’s  _great,”_  she affirmed tender gentleness, wriggling forward a bit to give him a soft, sweet kiss. She then gave him an impish look. “Though I  _will_  draw the line at recreating romance covers as a date, Your Majesty. Recreating our first date and sneaking off to screw on inappropriate furniture is one thing,  _that’s_  going just a bit too—” 

“Your true opinion of me comes out,” Bog groaned, letting his head thump back across the cushions theatrically. “And it’s a bloody low one. First  _flirt_ , then  _romantic,_  and now  _this.”_

“Don’t worry, I still like you just fine,” Marianne chuckled, tucking herself just so and curling close to him, the heat of him welcome now that the smolder of sex had come and gone, leaving her sweat to dry coolly in the night air. She snuggled deeper into his embrace, and Bog negated all of his grousing by readily letting her, nuzzling his nose into the mess of her hair, inhaling the sex-mussed scent of it soft and deep. 

Marianne sighed, soft and sleepy, eyes getting heavy as his warmth continued to lull her, her body still singing with sweet echoes of pleasure.  _God_ , but she had been missing out. In the back of her smitten, over-infatuated mind, Marianne had given herself many a guilt trip over wishing sex with Roland had been just a bit more…well,  _more_. But this…

Her smile was slow and sweet, curling against Bog’s skin, the thud of his heartbeat under her cheek. Roland couldn’t even hope for  _fucking nil_  after this. 

Her sigh was soft and happy, curling up through the shadows, but it was the notes that floated from the jukebox that had Marianne rousing herself, curiously cocking her head to better listen. Her eyes widened as an unmistakable voice began to croon. 

_“Wise men say…_

_Only fools rush in…_

_But I can’t help,_

_Falling in love with you…”_

Marianne’s laugh was more a hum as she came back to Bog, smiling unabashedly. “Wondered when we were gonna hear your man…”

Bog snorted, threading his fingers through her hair. “Apparently  _nothing_ can make you soften towards him…” 

She gave his ribcage a gentle poke. “Hey now, Your Majesty. I happen to like this song.” 

He quirked a brow at her, gentle amusement and surprise softening it. “Oh?” 

“Yeah…” Marianne stretched languidly, nuzzling her head back down upon his chest, her voice slipping into a murmur. “Guess that means I’m a closet romantic too…” 

They lay there, letting silence and shadows and their limbs twine together comfortably, the scent of sex and the soft, staining shimmer of the moon lulling them both into an even deeper state of relaxation as the King sang on.

_“Shall I stay…_

_Would it be a sin,_

_If I can’t help,_

_Falling in love with you…”_

With an idle sort of drowsiness, Marianne reflected over the lyrics.  _“But I can’t help falling in love with you…”_

It was sort of ironic, wasn’t it? After so many years of building walls and keeping up defenses…as soon as she and Bog had met, they  _hadn’t_  been able to help themselves, hadn’t been able to stop the wild and strange rush of feeling and connection that neither of them could have ever expected, that neither could have ever  _dared_  to hope for after the pain of their pasts. Hell, their very first meeting had her falling for him. 

Marianne’s mouth quirked. And he had caught her, in more ways than one. 

_“Take my hand…_

_Take my whole life too._

_For I can’t help,_

_Falling in love with you…”_

And now here they were, barriers down and bare in every way. No matter how she had desperately tried to drag her feet before, deny her feelings, Marianne now knew that there had been no way to stop her and Bog from coming straight on for each other, despite the scars of the past, despite the desperate lies she had  _had_  to tell that started the whole affair. 

Because no matter how convoluted the web of deception had ended up being, there were always some truths that refused to hide.

Like no matter how terrified it made her, she had never felt such a connection, such a  _belonging_  as she did with Bog. The same was true for Dawn, no question. But Bog had been…Bog was…

_Different._

_Everything is going to be different after tonight._

Marianne pursed her lips thoughtfully, soft fingers stroking over Bog’s pulse. That was more than fine with her. Different was what she liked, after all. Though honestly, it  _was_  sort of amazing that it had taken them this long to get here, bared in every conceivable way. A year together, and they had finally—

Marianne’s hand stilled, her heart giving a thud.  _A year with him._

A year with moonlight and motorcycles, a year of Griselda’s endless advice, a year of getting back into the routine of the pill, a year of dancing past the cameras, a year of bickering and bluntness and never once questioning that she was  _beloved_ , that she  _belonged_ —  

A year of everything being wonderfully and terrifyingly  _real_. 

A year with Bog. 

Marianne’s exhale was soft and shaky, her heart starting to race.  _I love him._

She loved him, wanted him, wanted everything he made her feel –  _respected and special and adored_  – and everything he could give her –  _happiness and home and security and family and friendship and love_ —

No matter what life held, be it moments captured by the cameras and dances stolen under moonlight, passionate lovemaking on ill-advised furniture and promises given in the heat of the moment but meant to the very core of their bones and being…

No matter what, as long as Bog was a part of it, Marianne wanted that. 

She wanted  _him_. 

Marianne turned her head to nuzzle at his brow, her nose stirring the damp, sweat-soaked strands of hair that had fallen across it. “Bog?” 

His arms held her tight to his chest, a palm passing down her spine in a slow, soft stroke as he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, the low rough warmth of his voice rumbling from his chest and through her. “Mmmm-hmmm?” 

“Will you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Number Three is "Moonlight Becomes You", as covered by Frank Sinatra (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aFSt_-CML_k). 
> 
> Song Number Four is obviously "Can't Help Falling In Love" by Elvis Presley (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGJTaP6anOU).
> 
> Also, here's a link to some art I did of Marianne's dress in this chapter!: http://suzie-guru.tumblr.com/post/145505888518/the-burgundy-rose-silk-hugged-her-curves-just


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